AH-MI ᥫ᭡

There won't be a next guy. He'd fucking make sure of it- not when you looked so perfect, so needy with him, crying his name in your sweet little voice. But you don't need to know that. Don't need to know he'll be keeping an eye out, waiting for some other schmuck to get handsy and let his guard down long enough for Sukuna to slip a hand around his neck and drag him to the nearest dark alley... or an abandoned building. Whichever is closest at the time.

The fairy lights above cast a soft glow over your writhing form as he uses you roughly, degrading words falling from his lips between harsh grunts. Your glossed lips part around desperate moans as he hits that spongey spot deep within you- the one that has you squeezing tighter around his dick.

"That’s it- squeeze me," he grunts, one hand yanking your hair until your throat arches, the other locking around your waist as he dips his head low, tongue sliding across your tear damp cheek. "Look at you, mascara running down your face, lip gloss smeared everywhere," he taunts, yanking your head to force eye contact. "Such a pretty little mess-" his pretty little mess... "Bet you can't even count how many times I've filled this greedy cunt today."

You shake your head pitifully, proving him right as hot tears streak your flushed face, dampening the plush toy more. Every roll of his cock inside you wrings out another ragged cry until speech is impossible- just broken pleas.

Sukuna chuckles, the sound almost affectionate if not for the cruelty glinting in his red eyes, "That's right, numbers are too hard for that empty head," he mocks, "just focus on taking my cock like a good little bimbo. It's all you're good for anyway." Its not... And he hates that- how you managed to worm your way under his skin and make him want more. Want you. Forever.

He pulls out with a groan, watching the thick string of his cum connect the two of you- watching the way your pussy struggles to keep his prior loads in. His hand strokes his length, squeezing and twisting along the fat vein that runs along the underside before smearing the head of his cock through your folds, pressing at your entrance.

A moan escapes him at the sight of his cockhead stretching your abused hole- he looks down at you, gaze hooded, "How many more do you think it will take? Before I fuck you pregnant."

Well shit… where the hell did that come from? His eyes widen a fraction- caught off guard by his own admission. His jaw ticks as he stares at you, silently willing you to speak. To say something, anything, instead of looking at him with those wide, glassy eyes.

Your fingers flex around the plush, a soft noise escaping your throat, and Sukuna wonders if you even heard him.

You did.

But it didn't sound right- no. He couldn't mean it- guys like him don’t actually want girls like you, much less knock them up. Right?

So then why is he looking at you like that? Like he's daring you to call him on his bluff.

You open your mouth- wanting to say something, but nothing comes out… instead you lie there trembling, still clutching the tear stained Hello Kitty plushie when something unexpected happens.

Sukuna's rough hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing away some of your smeared makeup with surprising gentleness. "Stupid woman," he grumbles…

You blink up at him in confusion through clumped lashes, your lip gloss stained mouth parting in surprise when he actually leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. "Don't get the wrong idea," he growls, but his fingers are threading through your tangled hair almost soothingly. "It’s just a kink of mine."

Six months later, you're standing in the ice cream aisle, one hand on your rounded belly as you debate between chocolate chip cookie dough and strawberry ice cream… Sukuna stands beside you, arms crossed, looking thoroughly bored by your indecision, like always.

You're about to reach for the strawberry when you notice him toss something into the cart behind you. Turning around, you blink in surprise at the soft pink Hello Kitty plushie now sitting among your groceries.

"Sukuna?" you ask, confusion clear in your voice as you look up at him. You thought he hated this sort of stuff- he'd certainly made enough comments about your "ridiculous obsession" over the months.

He catches your stare and tsk's in annoyance, a faint flush creeping up his neck, "What? I saw you staring at the ugly thing when we passed the toy section," he grumbles, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets… "Figured you wanted it for the nursery or whatever."

Your heart does a little flip, but before you can say anything sweet, he continues with a scowl, "This brat better have better taste than you," he mutters, but his hand comes to rest protectively on your lower back- guiding you toward the checkout, "Now come on, let's get home."

They picked out a boring theme. Night in New York. As if they haven't reused that like twelve times already.

To make matters worse, there were girls who weren't you trying to hit on him, complimenting his muscles and trying to get into his pants.

Anyways, it takes two to tango, so, you ended up fucking all night until morning.

"R-right there!" Your voice was barely recognizable, all messed up from the amount of times he's throat fucked you by now. Not to mention your loud ass moaning that could be heard over the music.

Satoru held onto the headboard that was slamming against his wall, leaving a dent behind. "Here sweet thing?"

You nodded - whimpering underneath his muscular frame.

His cock thrusted easily in and out of you now that your hole was all stretched out and used to his size.

"Gonna cum again?" He asked while already knowing the answer.

Something about drawing six orgasms out of you just fueled his ego. He was the only one who made you feel this good. Right?

You gasped, bucking your hips upwards when you came. Satoru didn't stop his movements, already heading for round seven. Or eight. He couldn't remember.

"Addicted to this cunt, just listen to her."

It was loud, squelching at every movement. If you weren't so fucked out you might have cringed.

"Can't.. s'too much!" Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, eyebrows knitting in exhaustion and pleasure. "Toru!"

Satoru ignored your pleas, dragging you closer to him, wrapping his meaty arms around your waist. His lips traveled over your cheeks before landing on your lips, swallowing every sound.

"You can take it one more time."

Your abused hole was begging for a break. But part of you didn't really want one. His cock was just too good.

"Ruined my bedsheets.." He murmured, staring down where the pool of mixed juices was. "Messy, messy girl."

You struggled to form a sentence, opting to just continue whining.

His dick twitched in you in warning.

"Gonna.. gonna cum in ya, alright?" Satoru asked, voice husky, almost as if he hasn't even bothered pulling out at all.

"Yes, yes please!"

Your nails dragged down his back, leaving behind marks that would take days to heal. Marks he would show off proudly.

He pumps a few more times, spilling into you. He finally removed his cock out of you.

His thick seed made its way out of your cunt, dripping down. "Can't have you wasting this. It's holy." With two fingers, he pushed back in his cum, humming in satisfaction.

"Thank you for this." Satoru smiled softly, leaning down to kiss his favorite girl one last time.

A knock could be heard on the door.

"Yo! Are you guys done? Need some help cleaning downstairs!" A voice that belonged to one of his frat bros called out.

How embarrassing.

EMO CHOSO - TUESDAY

"H-hey, you're here." Choso's voice trembled. It wasn't every day a goddess like you showed up outside his door asking him of all people to help you learn how to play the guitar, He opened the door wider, allowing you to enter.

There were guitars scattered on the floor, a piano tucked away, and a drums set. Every wall was covered with posters from bands with names you didn't;t even know how to pronounce.

"I just can't get the hang of it." You explained. "I feel like I'm even holding it wrong."

You've been coming in almost every week to get some private lessons from him. Choso being the pervert he was, had no shame in looking you up and down, taking notice of the skirt that was way too short.

"I'm sure you aren't." He reassured with an awkward chuckle. "Please, sit."

He pointed to an empty seat.

Your thighs doubled in size when you sat down, positioning your guitar comfortably. He gulped.

"S-so remember, every string has it's own letter."

He pulled another chair towards you, sitting down closely so he could explain. The tatted boy, apart from being terribly shy, was actually a good teacher.

"They're ordered from thickest to lowest.. see? You'll need to harden your calluses so you can play comfortably. You've got soft hands so um.. it's going to hurt at first."

You nodded, looking down at your instrument.

Up close, Choso was able to take a whiff of your perfume. God you even smelled like sin.

"Choso? Is everything okay?" You noticed the pink blush overtaking his cheeks and the way his leg bounced up and down.

"Me? Yeah, yeah I'm fine." His eyes flicked down to your lips.

"You sure?" Your voice lowered into a soft whisper. Choso gulped,, licking his own lips, the taste of metal from his piercings snapping him back to reality.

"I..I don't know."

His dick was hardening in his pants, becoming very visible. A choked gasp escaped him when your manicured hand reached to squeeze at the bulge.

"Oh my god!" He jolts up, holding onto his chair.

How cute is he.

"Can I roughen my calluses by giving you a handjob?"

It wasn't long before his twitching length was in your hand, tip leaking with pre.

"Did this hurt?" You asked, rubbing your thumb over the piercing on his tip.

"No- I mean, yes, sort of." He moaned out. Of course it hurt like hell. But he wasn't about to admit that in front of you.

You gently squeezed him, enjoying the way he trembled at every sudden touch. "And your face tattoo?"

"Yeah." He whimpered. "Hurt."

His bottom lip was tucked in between his teeth, hissing as your hand moved frantically. His shoulder length hair stuck to his neck now.

"You're so big.." You coo'ed. He was slightly smaller than Gojo in length aspect, but he was way thicker. No way was he ever going to fit inside you, so a handjob should suffice.

Choso slapped a hand over his mouth, fighting back any moan that wanted to come out. "Thank you.." His voice was now muffled.

You chuckled, moving down to the floor in between his legs. His tip slapped over your tongue before being sucked in.

In a rush of adrenaline, Choso's hand tangled itself behind your head, forcing you down to take all of him.

You moaned, looking up at him wondering where this emo gained the sudden confidence.

"Please.. don't stop!"

No girl would ever bat his eye towards him. Maybe he'd get complimented by one while at work here and there, but none would make any advances.

You gagged around him violently. Why the hell was he so thick.

Choso threw his head back, bucking his hips up. "Please, please, fuck, I'm gonna..!" He hiccuped, shooting out his seed down your throat. His hand didn't let go of you, forcing every single last drop to be swallowed up.

With one final kiss to the tip, you pulled away, smiling softly up at the panting boy.

"Great practice."

PIERCER GETO - WEDNESDAY

The bell placed over the door dinged, announcing your presence.

Geto looked up from where he was, behind his desk organizing his cabinets. "Hey gorgeous." The place was empty save for one of his coworkers who was packing up for their lunch break.

"Hi Sugu, m'here for my check up."

He nodded, standing up with a grunt. "Alright darling, come on over to the back. Let me check ya out."

Out of impulse, you pierced your nipples a couple weeks back. You'd do check ups to make sure your healing process was going well with no infections suddenly appearing.

A feral grin made its way onto his face when you pulled your shirt over your head, pretty tits out on display for him.

"Looking great." He moved closer to squeeze at the fat, thumb flickering your nipples, causing you to hiss.

"Ah, that's not good." He looked at you with lust in his eyes.

This was your favorite part. He'd notice you still in pain and he wouldn't waste a second to begin licking your breasts in hopes to lessen the irritation.

"Mm," Geto moaned with a mouthful of you. He teasingly bit at your bud, tugging at it, causing you to whine in pain. "Sorry pretty, you just got really fuckin' nice tits. All thanks to me, right?"

He was the one who pierced them after all.

You watched him drag his tongue over the piercings, sucking on it like a baby wanting to be breastfed. Your hands were on his shoulders for support.

"Look at you.. bet you're all wet now." To prove his claim, his hand slipped under your skirt, rubbing you through your panties. Sure enough, you were dripping. "You got this horny from me kissing your tits?"

"Shut up.." You groaned.

He only grinned again at that. "No need to be mad baby. I like knowing I make you feel this way."

His tongue was on you again, grunting loudly. "Love my girls."

You were beginning to feel light headed, letting out soft sounds here and there.

Geto pulled away to undo his belt, throwing it somewhere on the ground. His pants and briefs were pushed down to his knees, exposing his fully hard cock that barely stood up.

Just like Choso, he had a piercing right at the tip.

He led his cock to be in the middle of your tits, not before smacking each of them playfully. "Go on."

You bit the inside of your cheek, moving your hands to squeeze them around his length. Geto moaned seeing how obedient you were. You moved your chest up and down, giving him a nice tit job.

The strokes were beginning to get sloppy as you got tired, so he helped you out, fucking your tits like it was a pussy.

Whispering, "That's a good girl." He praised, knowing what it did to you.

He rubbed your piercings one last time before they got covered with his cum. Some landed on your face, making him chuckle.

"Sorry about that." He cleaned you up with a few tissues he had laying around. "So, I was thinking we could maybe give ya a Christina?"

PROFESSOR NANAMI - THURSDAY

"Forgot how good you tasted, sweetheart." Your professor moaned, kissing softly at your clit, dragging his tongue down to your entrance.

You were laid out on his desk, pants completely discarded and panties ripped in the middle. He promised he'd buy you more pairs anyways. "Sir.." Your eyes fluttered shut.

No one ate you out as delicious as Mr. Nanami.

It began when you begged him for extra credit in his class, which only led to one option. Sex.

His glasses were placed on top of his head, not wanting them to fog up.

"You can call me Ken.. no need for formalities."

"Feels disrespectful." You squirmed when two fingers entered your soaking folds, scissoring their way inside.

"Being this beautiful should be disrespectful to every girl, baby." He kissed your clit again, sniffing at your arousal.

You blushed at the way your slickness decorated his lower face, making it glisten under the classroom's light.

"Your test scores have been going up. That tutor of yours is doing a good job..I'm proud of you." He praised.

You scooted closer to him, a silent way of asking for him to eat you out again. He tsk'ed at your impatience.

"Baby.." He pulled out his fingers, spitting right at your entrance. "Already tasted you."

"Need more.." You begged.

With a sigh, he dipped his head back down, slurping up your juices.

STREET RACER TOJI - FRIDAY

You watched in awe as every car rushed to beat one another. 

Illegal car racing, what better way to spend your Friday night? 

To your side sat your best friend who wasn’t as interested as you were. 

“I only came for the hot racers to be honest.” She sighed, clicking away at her phone. Your eyes adverted back to the road when the announcer yelled into the microphone. 

“Andddd Fushiguro takes the lead!” 

You stared closely. He was fast. In more ways than one. 

So it wasn’t a surprise when he was declared to be the winner a few minutes later. Toji got out of his beat up car, scarred up from previous races. 

His bangs were sticking to his forehead from the thin layer of sweat. You immediately caught his eye. No way could he ever miss those pretty eyes looking at him amongst the crowd. 

“Thought you wouldn’t show up today, doll.” 

“I only missed last week because my parents didn’t let me escape their stupid dinner.” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest which only pushed it up. 

And of course, he took notice. 

It took every bone in his body not to slam you over the roof of his car to fuck you in front of everyone.

“Pretty thing like you stands out in a place like this.” 

“I know.. you tell me that every time.” You rolled your eyes.

His calloused hands reached to hold onto your hips, bringing you closer with a smirk etched on his lips. "Being a brat are ya." He whispered.

"Maybe.." You leaned in closer feeling him biting at your earlobe. His body warmth embraced you, protecting you from the night's weather.

“Wanna go for a ride?” 

With Toji, a ride meant two things. 

He’ll drive you around town before taking you home. 

He’ll drive you around town while you ride him before taking you home. 

It’s always the latter. 

You’re biting back whimpers as you humped him, feeling his tip graze your g-spot but not fully reaching it. 

“Come on baby, you can take all of it.” Toji encouraged you, pushing you down with one hand while the other maintained itself on the wheel. 

He planted a firm spam on your ass, squeezing at it. 

“Bounce on it.” He ordered.

Your legs felt wobbly when you pulled yourself up, his dick almost slipping out, before slamming back down. 

"I can't!" You said frustrated.

He grunted, pearly whites biting at his bottom lip. Your walls tightened around him, fluttering at every thrust. 

“You just did, atta girl.”

His pubes were starting to get drenched with your slickness. “Yer fucking messy.” He said, but he wasn’t complaining. Not when he was poking at your womb, even being visible from the outside.

"Pick up the pace, we're almost at your house."

He loved when you got all cock drunk, babbling on and on about how you couldn’t fit all of him but somehow managing to at the end. 

You dug your face in the crook of his neck, feeling his stubble tickle you. "Please.. help me."

With a sigh, Toji pulled over, parking behind a building.

"Dumb girl can't do anything herself."

TUTOR HIGURUMA - SATURDAY

"Gotta stay quiet- fuck, shh.."

"Hiro.." You moaned quietly, holding onto the desk as he slowly thrusted. Fucking in a library, a place where you're meant to be quiet, wasn't the brightest idea.

"Shhh," He repeated. "Don't make me cover your mouth."

Warm tears were flowing over your cheeks. He was going way too slow!

Higuruma was struggling to keep quiet as well. Your cunt was too warm , it was impossible not to fuck you stupid.

What was supposed to be a study night turned into this. It always did.

"Finish your homework, C'mon." He leaned over to point at the paragraph you haven't read yet. "Make sure to highlight any key points." His hand circled around your throat, picking up your head from the table.

Your mouth fell open, already needing to have your release. You knew he wasn't going to allow that to happen if you didn't finish your work though, so you got to highlighting. Or at least tried to.

It was hard to draw a straight line when you were getting your back blown out.

His balls slapped lightly at your ass with every roll of his hips he gave.

"Did you get looser?" He asked, taking notice of how easily he thrusted. You whimpered, making you receive an ass squeeze from him in warning. "Think so.."

You're concerned a person might walk to the area you two were hidden in. How would they react to two students fucking in a public space like this.

Spurts of cum filled up your womb.

"Hiro-"

"Don't even try asking. Finish your work then I'll let you cum."

"You're so unfair."

He placed a foot on the chair, giving him the ability to fuck you just right. "Unfair?"

Your eyes fluttered shut when he became rougher.

"Finish. Your. Work."

PLUG SUKUNA - SUNDAY

At the end of the week, you're just so exhausted. All you can think about is hitting a big fat blunt.

Sukuna was one phone call away.

You called him over when you finally had the place to yourself, waiting patiently by the window, seeing a familiar car pull up.

"Finally, took you forever."

"You're not my only client, sweet cheeks."

You rolled your eyes, snatching the bag from his hands.

"Uh-uh, pay up, shit aint free."

"Seriously? I've been a loyal customer for forever kuna!" You whined. "Can't you just give me this one free of cost? I'll pay you extra next time!"

"That's what you said last time, and the time before."

You pouted. "Kuna.."

He gave you a stern look before adhering his gaze to your shirt who wasn't doing a well job at hiding your nipple piercings.

"You could always pay me some other way."

Out of all the people you've slept with, Sukuna takes it with his monster dick.

"Oh my god!" You screamed into your pillow. His hands fully wrapped around your waist, angling you up just to his liking.

"Fuck you hear that?" He asked, nodding to the way your pussy was squelching. Sukuna laughed, letting go of your waist with one hand to smack at your cunt.

"Kuna!" You whined.

"Fuckin' shut up, shit." He panted, feeling your gummy walls flutter around him with every spank he gave.

Your thighs were shaking violently. How could they not when he was fucking your guts like an animal.

Sukuna was in a trance with the way your bouncing tits looked. The piercings were doing things to him.

His breathing was ragged now, the thin sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. He leaned down again enough to feel heat radiating from him. "You owe me." His lips began to leave open mouthed kisses along your neck.

While he fucked you into oblivion, you thought back to what your auntie asked you. Then you thought back to every single day of the week.

he’s… perfect. long legs, strong thighs, the sharp cut of his hipbones. and between them—jesus—he’s half-hard already, thick and heavy, curving slightly up against his stomach. it’s big. stupidly big. you’ve never seen one that size in real life, and definitely not on someone you’ve been low-key crushing on for months.

you force your eyes up to his face. he’s watching you with that half-lidded look he gets when he knows exactly what he’s doing to someone.

“where do you want me?” he asks, voice velvet.

you gesture weakly at the stool. “uh. seated? one leg up, arm on your knee? classic contrapposto but… sitting.”

he settles onto the stool, one foot on the floor, the other knee drawn up. his arm drapes over it, hand hanging loose. the pose opens his hips just enough that his cock rests against his thigh, thick and impossible to ignore. the head is flushed darker, a bead of moisture already gathering.

you pick up your charcoal with shaky fingers and start blocking in the big shapes. shoulder line, ribcage, the long curve of his thigh. but your eyes keep drifting. every time you look up he’s staring right at you, calm, unashamed, like being naked in front of you is the most natural thing in the world.

after ten minutes your face feels like it’s on fire. you’re breathing shallow, thighs pressed together under the easel. you can feel how wet you are—embarrassingly wet—just from looking at him.

he shifts slightly, making his cock bob against his leg. “you okay over there? you’re breathing kinda fast.”

“fine,” you squeak. “just—just concentrating.”

“mm.” he tilts his head. “your ears are red. and your neck. actually your whole chest is flushed.” his gaze drops deliberately to where your thin tank top clings. “cute.”

you press your lips together, trying to focus on the shadow under his pec, but your hand trembles and the line wobbles.

he chuckles softly. “you know, most models don’t get this kind of reaction. you’re making me feel special.”

“shut up!”

he stretches, rolling his shoulders so every muscle shifts under golden skin. his cock lifts with the movement, fully hard now, curving up toward his navel. the bead at the tip trails down the underside.

you make a tiny, involuntary sound.

his eyes darken. “getting hot over these, artist?”

you bite your lip, charcoal smudging on your fingers. “you’re… distracting.”

“am i?” he sounds innocent, but the way he spreads his thighs a fraction wider is anything but. “thought you needed accurate anatomy.”

“i do,” you whisper.

he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees now, cock hanging heavy between his legs. “then look closer. don’t be shy.”

you can’t help it. your gaze drops, lingers on the thick vein running along the underside, the way his balls draw up tight, the faint sheen of sweat at the base. when you drag your eyes back up he’s smiling.

“you’re soaked, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “bet those little shorts are ruined.”

your charcoal snaps in your hand.

he laughs. “don’t worry. i won’t tell anyone our prim little art student gets wet drawing her friend’s dick.”

you drop the broken charcoal, hands shaking. “suguru—”

“you’re shaking,” he says, voice low, almost rough. “can’t draw like that.”

he shifts on the stool, thighs spreading a little wider, and wraps one big hand around the base of his cock. it’s fully hard now and a fresh bead of precum wells up as his fingers close around it.

“think i need to get rid of some tension before we keep going,” he murmurs, giving himself one slow stroke from root to crown. his thumb swipes over the head, spreading the slick, and his abs flex when he exhales. “that okay with you? you can watch. or look away if it’s too much.”

“yeah,” you whisper. “it’s… okay.”

he hums, pleased, and starts moving his hand properly—slow, deliberate pulls that make his cock glide through his fist. the wet sound of it fills the room. his grip twists a little on every upstroke, just under the head, and his hips rock forward like he can’t help it.

“been like this since you asked me to strip,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “watching you stare and try not to was fucking killing me.”

you swallow hard. your nipples are tight against your tank top, and you know he can see it. heat is pooling low in your belly, slick soaking into your panties. you shift your weight and he notices—of course he does. “touch yourself if you want,” he says casually, like he’s offering you a pencil.

you shake your head, too embarrassed, but your hands won’t move from where they’re clenched at your sides. watching is already too much.

he speeds up a fraction, breath hitching. “fuck, you’re cute when you’re all worked up.” his free hand slides up his own stomach, fingers tracing the lines of muscle, pinching one nipple hard enough to make him groan. his strokes get firmer, louder—skin on skin. precum drips over his knuckles now, making everything shiny.

“look at that,” he mutters, tilting his wrist so you can see the way his cockhead bulges through his fist on every pass. “all because you couldn’t stop staring.”

he’s breathing harder, chest rising and falling, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. his balls are drawn up tight, heavy, and every time his hand drops low they shift like they’re aching.

“close,” he warns, voice rougher now. “gonna make a mess. you sure you’re good watching?”

you nod frantically. “please.”

that does it. his head tips back, throat exposed, a low groan dragging out of him as his hips jerk. thick ropes of cum shoot across his fist, splattering his stomach, one stripe hitting high enough to catch on his chest. he keeps stroking through it, slower, milking every last drop until it’s dripping down his shaft and over his fingers.

the sight punches the air out of your lungs. you’re throbbing, soaked, dizzy with it.

he finally lets go, cock still half-hard and glistening, cum cooling on his skin. he looks at you through the fall of his hair. “better,” he says, voice husky. “think you can focus now?”

you shake your head honestly.

he laughs, soft and filthy. “yeah. didn’t think so.”

he wipes his hand on his discarded shirt, then stands, closing the distance in two steps. he’s still naked, still smeared with himself, and towering over you.

“your turn,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “or we can skip drawing altogether.”

your answer is a shaky exhale against his finger.

From: [email protected] Subject: email? really?

Dear Gojo Satoru,  Clearly you can’t take a hint. Let me spell it out for you. I. Am. Busy. Leave. Me. Alone. Unhappily,  Your girlfriend P.S. Do not call yourself ‘big-dicked daddy.’ It upsets me greatly.

From: [email protected] Subject: keep being mean to me please im close

Dear adorable goth baby,  You’re so hot when you’re being mean. I already know you’re frowning in that cute way that makes me want to smother you in kisses and you’re rolling your eyes so hard NGH! I already said I’m sorry.  Please give me another chance. I’m so damn bored I started playing spin the bottle alone in my room. I made out with that picture of you sleeping with drool down your chin. Picture You was even getting handsy. ‘Down girl!’ I said. ‘Bad!’ Stay tight,  Toru (not Gojo Satoru, that’s like a slur coming from you, very triggering stuff) P.S. I am your big-dicked daddy tho I’m confused?

From: [email protected] Subject: shut up

Satoru,  I gave you multiple chances when I asked you to stop and give me at least 5 hours to study before we go out for dinner and I entertain you, you giant freaking child. But no, you just had to hound me with your dick, like I was supposed to be dickmatised and persuaded to drop everything at your beck and call.  Fuck, I’m getting mad all over again.  Stop emailing me. You’re gonna see me at 7pm for our date anyways. You can last 4 more hours. Yours not for long,  Girl who just wants to pass

From: [email protected] Subject: my bad bro

Sweetiepie :( I’m sorry.  I thought it was gonna motivate you to work hard. Pwease forgive me. Pwease? Towu is vewy vewy sowwy.  In fact, I’m so so so sorry, I’ll pay for dinner tonight. Scout’s honour. Asking for mercy and forgiveness,  Your boyfriend no matter what

From: [email protected] Subject: dinner? that the best you can offer?

You always pay for dinner. Last time I offered, you damn near wrestled me in the middle of the restaurant so you could get your card out first. We’re still banned from there, remember? Btw, you were never a Scout, don’t play with me.

From: [email protected] Subject: you gotta address me and sign off!

Dear love of my life who doesn’t understand how email etiquette works,  Of course I always pay for dinner — you’re broke and your family is destitute, I remind you lovingly. But even if you were as rich as me, or even richer (which isn’t possible, not to flex), I would still pay every single time. It’s the least I can do for reparations for the violence committed by my gender against yours. Plus, that restaurant sucked anyway — the owner is problematic towards immigrants and the servers don’t even know if the meat is locally and ethically sourced, like hello??? In the big 2025?!? How’s studying going? Do you need a snack or a smoothie to boost you?  I can drop by. Promise I won’t linger. I just didn’t see a purchase on my card for breakfast or lunch. Please don’t starve. If I can’t watch your ass jiggle when I hit it from the back, I’m gonna be devastated.  Yours most sincerely,  Satoru P.S. You have to be a Scout to say Scout’s Honour? Crazyyyyyy

From: [email protected] Subject: so fucking bossy omg

Dear Satoru (happy now?), Please don’t remind me of my family’s shortcomings. You know I like to pretend I came from a normal background. And stop being more woke than me. It’s hot. Studying’s fine, I guess. I think I forgot how to study. I’ve missed a lot of content too. If a certain someone hadn’t been clinging to me so tightly every morning, maybe I wouldn’t be so behind. God, you make my life so hard.  A smoothie and pastry would be lovely, actually. I can’t be bothered leaving my room to get some food. Just drop it off outside and disappear by the time I open the door — if I see even a glimmer of white hair, I’m going to freak.  Thanks. Love begrudgingly, A girl who’s gonna fail her exam

From: [email protected] Subject: you're not gonna fail

Dear cutie,  I don’t cling to you that hard. You’re dramatic. I wonder where you got that from. And last I checked, we have a safeword you can use anytime to get me away from between your legs if you really wanted to get to class. But I like our game where you pretend you’re not just as obsessed with me as I am with you (I know you get all hot and bothered when I reference Marx, dirty girl) Food’s outside babe. The line was stupid long and I ran into Fushiguro — remember the guy I told you has the highest body count on campus? He’s in a relationship now and he’s so pussywhipped lmaoooo Couldn’t be me. Hoping you’ll stuff your face and get all the brain power you need,  Satoru

From: [email protected] Subject: not impressed

I told you to disappear before I could see you.  You didn’t have to kiss me and hump my leg you animal. My neighbours were NOT happy with the pornographic noises you made, asshole.  Yeah, I remember Toji. Cool dude. Always wearing gym wear no matter the weather and for some reason hates you. Don’t make fun of him for being loyal and loving to his girlfriend. You’re probably so much worse. I envy his girlfriend. She probably doesn’t have to put up with a yapper who spams her with dick pics. Thank you for the food though. Very appreciated. What I didn’t appreciate, however, was the number and the smiley face on my drink. I already told you, if someone tries to hit on you, bark at them and tell them you have a girlfriend you worship endlessly. 

From: [email protected] Subject: EMAIL. ETIQUETTE. COME ON.

Look: Dear angry girlfriend I do in fact worship endlessly and beyond,  I’m sorry I didn’t follow your exact orders but I desperately needed a kiss from my girl. If I don’t get my daily dose, I wilt, like a rose. You know this.  And disrespectfully, f your neighbours. It wasn’t anything they hadn't heard from us before. Sensitive ears ahhh About Fushiguro — he does not hate me. Why does everyone say that?  We’re actually besties. We’re like dumb and dumber, but dumber is him obvi. Plus, once he gets some shots in him, he’s super in love with me. I get more over the clothes action from him than from you lol You never need to thank me for feeding you. I fear that’s like bare minimum. Get those standards up girl. Oh and sorry about the drink. I didn’t even notice. Leave it outside your door and I’ll get you a new one. I’ll even make a scene and call the manager over. Maybe I’ll buy the store and get everyone fired. Just give me the word babe. Yours forever,  Satoru 

From: [email protected] Subject: YOU ARE EXHAUSTING

Dear my sweetest, most frustrating boyfriend, Fine, I’ll forgive the kiss (I might have needed it too). And yeah, f my neighbours because the guy on my left loves playing Doctor Who Season 8 on repeat and on full volume every night like clockwork. It’s not even the best season! Forget about the drink. Just don’t ever go back there again. Number and smiley face aside, the drink is abysmal and tastes like bog water. Pastry is great though. 10/10 You’d really make a scene for me? Yours occasionally,  No longer starving girlfriend

From: [email protected] Subject: awww I knew you loved me really

Dear the Morticia to my Gomez,  I’d make a scene for you at the drop of a hat. I’d serenade you in malls, on campus, in a Michelin star restaurant, and in a lecture. Heck, I’d yell ‘BOMB’ in an airport if you asked me to – just maybe not an airport we frequent. There’s quite literally nothing I wouldn’t do for you. If you didn’t know that already, then I’m not as great of a boyfriend as I thought I was. I will remedy that immediately, my goddess eternal. Obsessedly yours,  Your husband in every way but legally (we can fix that)

From: [email protected] Subject: ugh

Dear Toru,  Stop being sweet. It’s disgusting. Come inside already. I’m done pretending I’m getting anything from the textbooks. I’m only giving myself a headache.

From: [email protected] Subject: woahhhh

You can tell I’m outside???

From: [email protected] Subject: you're loud as hell

I can hear you giggling at my emails, Satoru. You’re probably sitting on the floor, leaning against my door. 

From: [email protected] Subject: just got shivers

Damnnnn are you sure you’re not a witch?

From: [email protected] Subject: well?

Are you coming in or what?

From: [email protected] Subject: yippeeeee

Okay okay, yes I am. LOVE YOU BABY <3

Buying pretty lacy lingerie for you to wear on your next stream. Sending in requests to see you in different positions or using different toys. Getting personal chats from you – sometimes even little recordings of your soft voice saying good morning. 

Gojo probably replayed that one a hundred times getting ready, running his fingers through his hair to comb it and tossing on a fresh t-shirt and a pair of jeans from his floor after a fast shower, already running late to join Shoko and Suguru for their usual weekend brunch. Racing to make it there, sweat sticking to his arm pits by the time he pushed open the doors to some small hole-in-the-wall diner, the smell of bacon hitting him as he eyed a thick stack of pancakes on the closest table. 

“Over here,” Shoko dryly called out, a flash of movement drawing his stare over to where she was sitting next to Suguru in a corner booth. 

Gojo half-jogged to join them, mouth open and ready to offer an excuse before Suguru’s judgemental stare dragged over his sorry state. 

“You’re late,” he commented. “Jerking off to her again?” 

His friends didn’t understand.

Didn’t think that it was actually you, at least, messaging him. 

Shoko called him a creep for having a crush on some stranger he’d only seen through a screen. Suguru, though? He was a bit more…creative.

“No,” Gojo defensively said, blushing hard as he slid in the booth across from them.

“Sorry, were you speaking to your AI girlfriend?” He deadpanned, cocking his head to the side. Goji heard it all before, most commonly when they went to the gym together to work out – which he admittedly only started doing when he started privately messaging you.

“She’s not-” Gojo huffed. “I-I-”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, not really believing him either as he stammered out weak protests.

You were real. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, his entire face lighting up as he read the chat. He’d changed your contact to something more intimate, even though logically, he knew it was probably cringy and Suguru would be sure to tell him as much if he ever saw it. 

princess <3: toruuuuuuu

princess <3: how are you today? 

His fingers were hurrying to type a reply, clumsily hitting letters just to have to furiously erase and fix his typos before he hit send. 

blu3yedbigd1ck: Dreamed about you last night. 

Suguru reached across the table and snatched his phone, dark brows furrowing as he scanned over the messages before his nose scrunched up in disgust. 

“God, dude, could you not have picked something less creepy?” He groaned, tossing it back to him like he might have to pour bleach in his eyes out if he read any more. “You might as well have told her you jerked-” 

Buzz. Buzz.

You already replied. 

He was ignoring the rest of Suguru’s lecture, looking down at his lit-up screen to see your flirty replies back.

princess <3: oh yeah?

princess <3: what position? 

His dick was getting hard again. 

Straining inside his underwear as he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Trying to hide the fact he was about to be sporting a bulge as he stared dumbly at your little contact photo, unable to convince his own thumb to move to type.

But then bubbles popped up, and you were sending a third message. 

princess <3: i was actually thinking about u too

That meant something, right? It had to.

“He's not even fucking listening,” Suguru complained, and Shoko was saying something back, pulling out cigarettes from her purse with a sigh, but he couldn't bother to look up. 

Glued to the rectangle in his hands as a picture popped up in the chat. 

There was nothing lewd about it, a perfectly innocent photo of you smiling in a pretty blue sweatshirt – and it somehow made it so much more intimate. 

Blushing as you sent something else, trying to suppress his stuttering and swelling heart as it pounded inside his chest. 

princess <3: your favorite color? 

blu3yedbigd1ck: My favorite everything.

“Can you pay attention for like, two minutes?” Suguru groaned, and Gojo had to shove his phone back in his pocket, palms sweaty as he tried to focus on his best friend. Suguru was sighing, nodding towards the waitress walking over. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, wiping his hands off on his jeans before glancing over his menu. 

But even half a plate of pancakes later, sipping on soda while Suguru talked about his problems with women – ones with warm bodies that had actually been in his bed – he was barely listening at all. Just nodding along, readjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose and licking the syrup off his fingers. Shoko had stepped outside, her outline visible through the window as she leaned against the wall, the last of a cigarette dangling from her lips as small puffs of smoke floated past. 

“You know,” Suguru sighed, dragging Gojo’s back from his daydream about being at a place like this on a date with you. What would you order? Would you sit across from him? Slide into the booth next to him and lean your head on his shoulder? 

“Huh?” Gojo blinked, gripping his fork a little too tight. 

“I was just saying I could probably hook you up with someone,” he said, thick fingers wrapping around the handle of his coffee mug, one brow arched as he tried to assess Gojo’s reaction. 

“Nah,” Gojo shrugged, the idea of going out with any girl that wasn't you making his skin crawl underneath his shirt. “Not interested.” 

Suguru’s jaw clenched, ready to call him a moron when Shoko strolled back in, easily reading the situation. 

“He said no?” She asked, as if she'd been expecting it. 

“I mean, I just don't really have time for a relationship right now, y’know-” Gojo started bluffing, trying to make it sound casual.

“You're too busy talking to a girl who probably uses a chat bot to talk to twenty other guys online,” Suguru sarcastically finished for him. 

“She's not like that,” he protested, an ugly feeling stirring up in his stomach. 

“You pay her to talk to you,” Suguru reminded him, and even though he was right, it still stung. “Wouldn't you rather be with a girl who likes you for you?” 

How was he supposed to explain that he didn't care if you only wanted him for his wallet?

Gojo only wanted you. 

But Suguru’s question stuck in his head. Stayed there for the rest of the day, going back home to stare at his chats with you, all the ones where you listened to him rant and ramble about his favorite games and shows, asking questions and exchanging interests. Looking back through the photos you sent him and the few he scrounged up the courage to send back. It was never his whole face, just part of his eyes or his hands. Most of the pictures he sent were of his meals, desserts he made or bought from his favorite sweets shop. 

Did you think he was annoying?

Just a loser in love with you? 

He turned his phone off, tossing it on his nightstand next to the tissues and lube as he collapsed on his bed, pulling the pillow down over his face as he groaned into it. Even when his eyes were shut, he still saw you behind them. 

And the moment his phone started ringing with the specific notification he set to know you were streaming, he was sitting back up, scrambling to grab his laptop and switch to the tab always reserved for you. 

It was funny how fast he forgot about everything else the second he saw your pretty face blinking back at him. Sitting up straight in a computer chair this time, no longer in that soft blue sweatshirt and instead in a barely-there nightgown that didn't leave much to the imagination as you greeted people joining the chat. 

blu3yedbigd1ck: Hi beautiful

He hesitated, before adding a definitely absurd number of heart emojis he hoped would catch your attention. 

“Hi there,” you hummed, face lighting up – and he held onto the hope it was directed towards him. “I have a little announcement to make today.”

You twirled a loose strand of hair around a finger, looking into the camera like you could see him through it. 

“In honor of my latest milestone,” you started, smiling so pretty it was practically blinding. Struck with cupid’s arrow as he stared hopelessly at his screen, spit pooling in the back of his mouth and hanging onto your every word. “I wanted to host a very special celebration stream.” 

The chat was already going crazy. Message after message being spammed, people sending in requests, emojis, compliments and complaints before you even announced what it’d be. Your eyes flickered over to where the chat was, reading the messages like you were waiting for one. 

His fingers were already flying across his keyboard.

blu3yedbigd1ck: You know I’ll be there. 

It was probably his imagination, but your face relaxed more, features brightening as you tilted your head to the side.

“One of my lucky top three spenders will get invited at the end of the month to join me on stream,” you softly said, and his brain stopped working. 

Your words jumbled up and echoing in his head, pulled apart and pieced back together as he struggled to make sense of it. 

Join you? Like, actually, meeting you? And if it was on stream, did you mean-

“Our winner will get to pick whatever they want to do with me,” you winked, before starting to rattle off a few rules and regulations you were obligated to – mentioning that you'd cover the costs of the plane ticket but that they'd have to pass a background check, blah blah blah – but Gojo was still stuck on that first sentence. 

Anything he wanted? 

Would you really take his virginity? Let him fuck you into those pretty pink sheets of yours until it was stained with your tears and his cum? 

(Even if he was probably the one that would end up crying?)

You didn't say it was a competition. 

But it immediately came apparent it was one after the donations started flooding in. People desperate to make you theirs. Losers like him itching to feel you for themselves. 

Gojo had to fucking win. 

He had watched almost every stream of yours. Even ones where you worked with other cam girls or guys, but he didn't know if he'd be able to stand his own jealousy if he wasn't on top. 

Or the one underneath you for this. 

The other assholes in your chat wouldn't appreciate you as much as he would. Wouldn't worship your body how he would. Adore every little twitch and tremble they earned. 

Gojo was fumbling to grab his wallet off his nightstand, flipping through to find his credit card with the highest limit. His fingers were shaking as he typed in the information, barely listening to you talk about how you would donate a portion of the proceeds to some charity, just clicking away before sending an exorbitant sum your way. 

A flicker of pride shot through him at how wide your eyes went when you saw it, suddenly stammering as your breath hitched in your throat. 

“To-” You stopped yourself, catching the nickname before it could slip off your tongue. “You guys don't have to donate that much, I’m-”

He sent another one just to see the way your lips pressed together as you shut up.

Other people were sending in donations too, but it wasn’t like they could match his. Could measure up to him. 

Although some of them tried, a few annoying contenders attempting to catch up when you shifted back to your more normal streaming mode, switching to a different camera and getting settled on your bed. A toy between your thighs, one that sucked softly on your clit as you threw your head back and filled his room with sounds of your breathy moans. 

But his eyes were skimming over the chat, scared that his spot as top donator would be replaced. Honestly, it was the first time in fucking forever that he didn’t have his hand down his pants when watching you, too stressed that he might lose an opportunity he didn’t know if he’d ever get again. 

He was fucking sweating, white strands of hair sticking to his forehead while he listened to you whine, prettily panting as he squinted at someone complaining that he was probably someone spending his daddy’s money to win. 

Which okay, wasn’t totally untrue. 

But they’d do the same if they were him. 

He’d do anything to be with you. 

Even if Suguru thought he was a moron. Even if you were only interested in him for money. Even if the most he’d ever realistically get with you was one night – and that was if he was lucky. 

But luck was one of the few things he did have. 

Fortune favored him – and after a few weeks of sending in donations every time he thought someone else might manage to usurp him, despite your private messages pleading with him that he really didn’t need to, that he was already in the lead, he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Satoru,” you said his name like you were scolding him. “I told you-” 

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” He changed the subject, listening to your little huff on the other end of the phone call you asked him for. Another little perk of his VIP membership. Sometimes, he sort of felt more like a sugar daddy, although he didn’t think the kind of guys that did that were usually twenty-something virgins who had never actually experienced the touch of a woman. 

“Well, no,” you sighed, and he was already picturing what face you might be making. Were you pouting? Pushing out your bottom lip? Were your brows kitted together? 

What kind of faces did you make when no one was around to see them? 

“You can order yourself something,” he muttered. There was a brief pause, and he just knew you were still fighting to find something to argue with him with. 

Did you not want him to win? 

“I just don’t want you to not be able to eat,” you eventually said. 

It took him a few seconds to process what you were saying. 

That you, of all people, were concerned about him. 

That was what Suguru didn’t understand. He didn’t know you. Didn’t get that you weren’t solely selfish or greedy. You cared. 

“Sweetheart,” he lightly chuckled, heart soaring. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” You asked, voice lilting like it never did in your streams. It wasn’t practiced or put-together. This version of you, one he couldn’t even see, was somehow more real when it was raw like this. “You’re already like, way ahead of everyone else, y’know, I just-” 

“I want to take care of you,” he quietly interrupted, awkward and nervous as he barely managed to not stutter. 

Gojo meant it. 

And he’d make sure you’d see it. Sooner or later. Still making sure his username stayed at the top in every stream until the end of the month crept closer and closer. Until he was anxiously tapping his foot on the floor of his bedroom, cock aching in his boxers as the moonlight drifted in through his window while he watched the strap of your lingerie slip off your shoulder. 

He held his breath, heart thrumming loudly inside his chest as he waited for you to say it. Hoping for you and hating himself at the same time for being so pathetically attached to someone so out of his league. 

“I’m going to message our winner of our little contest privately once the stream’s over,” you said, a gleam in your eyes he imagined was only for him as you addressed the audience. 

He was pretty sure the seconds stretched out into hours once his screen went dark after you ended it. Staring down at his phone and choking on his own spit, desperately willing for a new message to pop up. 

One did, but it was from Suguru, asking if he was busy. 

Suguru: Can I drop by? I’m like five minutes from you  

Gojo grimaced, ready to throw his phone on the bed, replaying what you’d first mentioned when you announced it. You just said one of the top three spenders, didn't you? So what if the guy in second place got it? Or even third? 

Fuck, he should’ve paid more attention, shouldn’t he? 

Now there was no fucking chance-

princess <3: soooo are you doing anything on the 30th?

He almost screamed. Or squealed. Or whatever the most manly version of crying in relief was, all the tension in his body suddenly snapping like a rubber band as he read and reread your message. 

Gojo won. He won.

blu3yedbigd1ck: Just tell me the time and place and you know I’ll come.

And cum. 

He paused, thumb hovering over his screen as he practically hyperventilated, freaking out inside and thankful you couldn’t see his face right now as he stood up just to pace. Did he sound suave? At least a little cool and collected? 

princess <3: promise? 

princess <3: send me your information? 

He still couldn’t believe this was fucking real. That it was really happening to him. He still hesitated to type it out – wondering what you would do once you had his name. What would a background check reveal? 

That he was a dork who rarely left his apartment outside of his responsibilities or the occasional hangout with his only two real friends? That he collected Digimon figurines? 

He sent everything over with a fear that you’d find something out that would make you change your mind. Maybe you’d think he was just a loser riding on his family’s name like most other people did. 

Or you-

Someone knocked on his door hard enough he froze and hit send on accident. His message with his full name in it immediately marked as seen, his cheeks heating up as he forced himself to look up as the pounding outside continued. 

“Hey, put your dick up and answer the door,” Suguru called out. 

Gojo grabbed his pajamas from where he’d left them on the floor earlier, hurrying to pull them up his legs before groaning at the realization it didn’t have any pockets. You hadn’t replied yet, but he couldn’t bring himself to just leave his phone on his bed, gripping it tightly in his palm as he hurried to go see what Suguru wanted. 

His best friend was waiting outside the door for him, leaning against the frame and holding out a bag with to-go boxes. 

“Hey,” he greeted, praying Suguru wouldn’t notice or comment on the bulge he was still sporting. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Suguru muttered, one pierced brow arching up suspiciously as he still noted how pink his face was. 

“Nah, just, um, watching stuff,” Gojo lied, like Suguru wouldn’t be able to see through him. As if in the ten years they’d known each other, he hadn’t figured out what face he made when he was hiding something. 

“Me n’ Shoko are worried about you, dude,” Suguru sighed, holding out the bag for him to take before running his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “You never want to go out or do anything anymore.” 

He had a point. 

Gojo was getting addicted to you. 

He wanted to tell Suguru that he was better than okay, that he was about to go out and actually do someone for the first time in his life. But he also knew what Suguru would have to say to that. 

Suguru would tell him precisely what an awful idea he thought it was – scold him and say he was getting scammed. 

So instead, all he did was grin, clapping his hand on Suguru’s shoulder and shrugging.

“Don’t worry, man,” he chuckled. “I actually just made some plans to go on a little vacation soon.” 

He just left out that it was to see you. 

It took a few days to sort out – you wanted to buy him plane tickets and book his hotel for him. But when you mentioned that he was closer than you expected, sending an address that was only a couple hours away, he said he’d handle it. 

Why bother taking a plane when he could just drive there? 

Be able to actually drive you around in his own car once he got to your city, y’know, if you were interested. Besides, he could always pay for his own accommodations – make whatever arrangements he needed without feeling like he was being a burden to you. 

You protested, but Gojo won in the end. 

He always did. 

And on the 30th, he was waiting outside your door, one hand clutching a bouquet he spent thirty minutes struggling to pick out in the closest floral shop, and the other hesitating to actually knock.

He tried to hype himself up. 

There were two condoms in his wallet, two gift bags hooked over his elbow, one stuffed full of lingerie in shades of white and blue. The second was something a bit more personal, in a much smaller bag. A gift he wasn't sure you'd even want, half-convinced you would just toss it in the trash once it was all over. 

Gojo almost lifted his hand back to finally do it, to tap on the thick wood, but then he started agonizing about what to say when you answered. 

‘Hey, it's the guy who pays your rent every month?’ 

God, no, that made him sound like an asshole. Desperate. Which, yeah, he was the latter, but he didn't want you to think that. 

Should he try to act more like Suguru? Girls liked him. Could he pull off the whole quiet and contemplative thing? 

The door opened before he could keep deliberating. 

You were somehow prettier in person. 

Standing there in a cute little dress that was practically sheer, a loose cardigan hanging over your frame that didn't conceal the way the slip clung to you underneath it. He recognized it almost immediately as one he purchased for you, his favorite color even better when it was on your skin. 

“Hi,” you half-whispered, and he could almost convince himself you were looking forward to meeting him too. 

“Hi,” he breathed back. 

Way to go. 

“Do, um, do you wanna come inside?” 

“Yes,” he bluntly answered, and the tension in your shoulders relaxed, laughing a little as you opened the door wider. He was pretty sure his face had to be red, his filthy mind jumping to both meanings as he tried to get his feet to move and take him past the threshold. 

He was staring at you, and you were staring at him. 

Your soft eyes searching over him, studying him with an expression he wished he understood better. Dragging over his tall frame before returning to his face, like you couldn’t wrap your brain about it being him. 

“It’s kinda silly, but I feel like I already know you. Can I still call you Toru?” You slowly asked, and he was finding it hard to stop himself from bouncing in place at how your voice washed over him. Syrupy, almost sugary, getting stuck on each syllable. “Or do you prefer Satoru?” 

“You can call me anything you want,” he said before he could stop himself, hating how much of a fool he already felt like in front of you. Stiffly holding out the flowers for you to take, which you also took longer to accept. 

“Thank you,” you smiled, stepping aside so that he could come in. He only managed to step forward when your stare shifted down to the bouquet. He hoped he got it right. Hoped he picked your favorites, and too sheepish to ask. 

It wasn’t that he was timid, because he wasn’t, really. Just flickered from overconfident to sure he was being stupid. 

“I don’t even think I have a vase,” you laughed a little, like you were trying to ease the tension simmering between you. 

Was it just the awkwardness hanging there? Or something else?

“Do you want me to go get you one?” Gojo genuinely offered, wondering if he did something wrong already but you shook your head. 

“I’ll figure something out,” you insisted, your free fingers reaching out to brush against his arm – and suddenly he was wishing he hadn’t worn a long-sleeved shirt. “Don’t leave.” 

You didn’t need to tell him twice. 

He'd go where you want. Do what you want. 

Gojo couldn't stop staring at you, fantasizing with you in front of him over this domestic feeling in this chest. The casualness in your steps, padding barefoot over to the joint kitchen area attached to your living room. You started rummaging through cabinets, grabbing an empty glass pitcher and filling it up with water from the sink before stuffing the flowers inside. 

“They're pretty,” you complimented, leaning over to sniff the delicate petals. 

“Not nearly as pretty as you,” he replied, and you made a sound he had never heard before. A squeak? A squeal? 

Something small and light and twinkling and so goddamn cute he stopped breathing for four full seconds. 

“I can’t believe you’re actually real,” you exhaled, chest rising and falling just as fast as his was.

He blinked, struggling to figure out what that meant.

You saw his reaction, lips twitching up in a sweet smile like it was a good thing. 

“I was kind of scared to get my hopes up,” you confessed, and Gojo felt a cold shard of fear being driven into his heart. Did he disappoint you or-? “But you’re way hotter than me.” 

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” he half-whined, his hand reaching up to hide his mouth under his large palm. As if you wouldn’t be able to see the blush creeping up on his cheeks. 

He never thought he was unattractive. But he was awkward, uncomfortable when it came to actually going on dates or at the idea of an actual relationship with a girl. He talked too loud, too fast, was the kind of know-it-all most people called annoying. 

Maybe you liked his face, but he was really just paying you to tolerate his personality. 

“Why not?” You giggled again, moving the flowers before walking back over to him. Tenderly grabbing his fingers before guiding his hand down like you wanted to look at him. Pinching his chin between your smaller fingers, tilting his head from side-to-side like you were appraising him. 

Gojo could smell your perfume from here, and he was pretty sure his eyes actually rolled back in his head. It was intoxicating. You smelled like candy, but he bet you tasted even sweeter. 

Completely frozen, stuck there as he stared down at you, blue eyes bulging as they zeroed in on the gorgeous little gleam in yours. Your manicured nails digging into his skin, not enough to cut, but to apply enough pressure to keep him still. 

“It’s kinda hard to believe a guy like you is actually interested in me,” you freely admitted. Before your brows scrunched and you corrected yourself, “My streams.” 

“A guy like me?” He asked, and you swallowed hard this time, avoiding your stare. 

“You know what I mean,” you murmured. He didn’t. 

“Tell me anyway?” He tried to tease, mouth twitching up in a smirk he hoped was charming. 

“Fishing for compliments?” You grinned back, letting go of his chin to briefly cup his cheeks, patting it a little before you turned away. 

But your eyes flickered back to the bags he was still holding, like you were silently trying to ask what they were. 

He sat both down on the closest piece of furniture, an armchair that looked like it was barely used. 

“Are those for the stream or-” 

“Just for you,” he answered, and he was pretty sure he’d be chasing the feeling flooding his chest watching you beam back at him. 

“Can I open it now or is it for later?” You followed it up, pulling off your cardigan and throwing it over the back of the chair. 

It was just your shoulders, more of your arms, but it made him feel like he was seeing something holy, like he should be on his knees worshipping you or taking photos as if you were some piece of art he’d been admiring for so long from afar. 

“Whenever,” he shrugged. 

Was he being off-putting? 

For a guy who always talked too much, who could never get himself to shut up, he suddenly seemed unable to come up with anything to say when all his words got choked up in his throat. 

“I guess I’ll save it then,” you muttered, even though you looked like you were itching to open them now. It was better this way, though, he was barely functioning as it was. He wasn't sure his brain would still work if you offered to put on a fashion show for him in the new lingerie he bought you. 

“O-okay,” he stammered, already flustered simply at the thought. 

“So, um,” you paused, briefly biting your lips before jutting your thumb behind you. “Do you want to see my room?” 

He dumbly nodded, feeling like a fucking moron making this more awkward as he trailed after you down the hall. You tried to fill the silence, casually asking questions he dutifully answered, his eyes constantly drifting back to you despite how interested he was in every part of your life he hadn't been privy to before as you pushed open your bedroom door. 

It was weird viewing it from this new angle. Able to note new things he’d never gotten a glimpse at. It made him feel special, as if he was sharing this secret with you – although an annoyingly logical part of his brain wanted to suggest you film from a proper set instead of the intimacy of your actual bed. 

“I cleaned up before you came,” you hummed in front of him, sitting in the spinning chair by your desk, turning on your computer and starting to adjust the settings for the stream. 

“You didn't have to do anything for me,” he quietly said, toning himself down into something he hoped was more appealing to you as he examined the little trinkets on your desks. Stuffed animals you kept out-of-sight on stream. 

“I'm, uh, also on birth control, so as long as you're clean, you don't have to wear a condom,” you added, a hint of anxiety bleeding through, as if you were seeking his approval. 

“Um, I'm, uh, clean,” he said, turning away so you didn’t notice that he was hard just from the idea of sex with you. 

“Satoru,” you spoke his name like it was something precious. Pronouncing the syllables like you were really his friend. “Are you nervous?” 

“Is it that obvious?” He chuckled, reluctantly looking back at you to meet your sympathetic stare. “I just, I’ve never…”

Gojo couldn't finish, couldn't stand to tell you he was a virgin. 

“Been on camera before?” You asked, innocently tilting your head, coming to the wrong conclusion. “It's okay, if you don't want-”

“I've never wanted anything as much as I want this,” he bluntly interrupted. “You.” 

“Oh,” you half-whispered, hiding a smile by looking down before you gestured to your streaming setup. “Guess we should get started then?” 

He watched practically in awe at how you turned it on the second the stream was running, chirping as you greeted everyone in chat, taking a minute or two to make sure most of your audience was there before waving him over and introducing him as the winner. 

That's what he was, right? He had done it. Made it here. About to lose it all to you – in the same bed he'd been dreaming about doing it for so goddamn long. 

Your hands slid up his arm, squeezing his bicep as you pulled him close. 

“Our special guest has never been on camera before, so you guys better be nice,” you warned, pouting in frame as you leaned your head against him. “It's his show tonight.”

Whatever he wanted went. 

You looked up at him before you switched over to the bed, guiding him there. A tripod was set up, ready to capture every dirty detail and broadcast them. Two fingers poked his chest, getting him to sit on the edge, before you giggled and pushed him back further. 

And suddenly you were straddling him, your soft thighs on top of him, your weight shifting and readjusting as you wrapped your wrists around his neck, playing with his soft undercut. 

He was fucking terrified to touch you. Scared that it would shatter the moment and he’d realize this was just an illusion, another dream he’d wake up from. 

But then you sighed, going to grab one of his hands, guiding it towards your waist, wrinkling that pretty slip of yours as you tilted your head so sweetly. Blinking at him with disbelief that mirrored his own, before you were whispering under your breath, “Hold me.” 

“Bu-” He didn’t get more than a single syllable out.

“I want you to,” you murmured, pushing your bottom lip out in another pout. 

His heart swelled, and before he could stop himself, he was leaning up to kiss you. Lips crashing together in an admittedly clumsy connection, too aware of the camera currently focused on both of you to direct all of his own focus solely on you. But then your tongue was suddenly in his mouth, tracing over his teeth, and he was pretty sure his mind melted. 

All his other kisses were drunk ones at parties Suguru and Shoko dragged him to, sloppy and messy, but this was different. You were different. 

It felt fucking magical. The softness of your lips, the taste of mint on your mouth, like you had brushed your teeth before he came over. Sucking on his lower lip, a warm buzz spreading inside his chest at how right this was. One of his hands caressed your cheek, his thumb dragging over your soft skin while his other fingers sank deeper into your waist. 

Trying to pull you closer, forgetting about how this was being filmed in favor of kissing you harder. 

Gojo didn't want it to end. 

He could feel his cock starting to grow, throbbing and aching already underneath the heat of your body, the weight of you on top of him. 

God, he was glad he started lifting fucking weights over the last year – because it was easy to lift you up. 

He flipped the positions, hearing all the air get knocked out of you when your back hit the bed. Hair splayed out underneath you, lips parted in surprise as you looked up at him. 

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked, not scared or nervous, teasing him as you propped yourself up on your elbows, like you wanted another kiss. 

Gojo couldn't help but oblige, leaning down to press his mouth to yours again while your words repeated in his ears. 

How many nights had he spent asking himself that question? Debating over what he’d do if he ever found himself here? 

Take out that custom dildo and take you both ways? Press your thighs to your chest in some mean mating press? Do it doggy style? 

“Come on, baby,” you purred, sifting your fingers through his hair as you peppered his face with more kisses. “Tell me what you want.” 

All he could think of right now was how much he was dying to taste you. 

“I wanna eat you out,” he confessed, coming out hoarser than he intended, his voice just as raw as his heart felt, throat constricting at the idea of you on his tongue. 

He pushed you higher up on the bed so he wouldn't have to be on his knees on the ground, spreading your thighs apart with those huge hands of his. Forcing himself to take it slow, palms traveling over your skin in time with his lips. Kiss after kiss, admiring each pretty inch of you before he was face-to-face with the thin lace thong hardly keeping anything covered. 

Gojo ripped it off like it was nothing, dropping the little fabric to the floor while you let out a small surprised gasp. 

He bought it – so why couldn't he break it too? 

The camera hadn't captured precisely how pretty your pussy was in person. Already wet for him, glistening and goading him into doing something about it. 

“You're soaked,” he commented, swallowing the spit pooling in the back of his mouth as his eyes drifted up to you. 

You made a noise, almost like a whine, shifting your hips and arching them up as you pushed your bottom lip out. “Yeah?”

Gojo wasn't always great with social clues, but he saw it for what it was. An invitation. 

One he was more than happy to accept. 

Diving in to deliver messy kisses, mouth open as his tongue dragged inside of you – copying the same methods he’d spent the past six months studying in porn scenes, desperate to make you cry out his name. 

Until you forgot about the cameras too, so lost in his tongue and his hands that you couldn't remember your own name. Or that he was simply a loser with too much money to spend. 

Because if he was just some guy you met on the street, would you ever really let him do this? 

Let him wrap his mouth around your cute clit, sucking on it and swirling his tongue over it, painting his own name with his tongue while you twitched? Let him slot two thick fingers inside your dripping cunt, scissoring you open with steady strokes? 

He counted them out, tested out what spots you seemed to like the most and made a mental note of them for later. Even if Gojo was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to think of anything once his cock was actually inside of you. 

He was already painfully hard, dick throbbing and pulsing for relief as he rutted into your mattress mindlessly. It creaked under your combined weight, but your own moans were louder. Pitchy and airy, filling the room as you tugged harder on his roots. Keeping him close, refusing to let him stray from the task. 

He groaned into your sensitive bundle of nerves as your nails raked over his scalp, the vibrations making you whine right there with him. His fingers crooked, curling just enough to have your back arching up, hips trying to work them in even deeper as you chased your climax. 

Your thighs closed around his head, holding him hostage there, but honestly? He didn’t mind. 

Gojo would live here if he could. Breathe you in and sustain himself with this alone. 

He dragged his tongue back over your clit, and you made a sound that almost made him cum. Maybe that was just a habit though, years of training himself to finish when you did, the noise immediately registering as your resolve crumbling and giving into the urge to cum just from his mouth and a couple fingers. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, y-you-” 

You sounded desperate, and Gojo decided he'd never heard anything hotter than that. The cute little stuttering, the raw mantra while his tongue tugged you closer to overstimulation, still working on that pretty bud until you pried him back with another pull of his hair.

“You said whatever I want,” he reminded you with a pout that matched yours. 

After a stunned pause, you relented though, eyes wavering and wide as you reluctantly started laying back down, but Gojo just chuckled, climbing back on top of you fully, tempted to tear your dress off too so he could feel your skin. 

Kissing your mouth again, knowing you could taste yourself on his tongue when he slowly slipped it between your open lips. 

Gojo could barely bring himself to part from you, his warm breath on your skin, his nose nudging against yours. 

“What do you want to do with me?” He returned the question, holding out the reins for you to take. 

Because more than anything, he wanted to make you happy. 

You giggled, grinning up at him as your fingers traced over his side, slipping underneath his shirt. 

“Take your clothes off,” you instructed. 

He listened better than any dog did. Standing up to strip quickly, proudly showing off the muscles he only bothered growing for you, wondering if the lamps in your room lit them well for the cameras. 

Your eyes raked over him with appreciation that made his pride flare even more, his fingers fumbling to unzip his jeans and drop them to the floor. You were sitting up now, still breathing a little hard from cumming before. Eyes going wide the second you saw his bulge in his boxers, the damp spot against the thin white fabric from where pre-cum was already leaking. 

“Fuck, you’re-” You didn't let yourself finish, voice dying out as his boxers hit the floor next. 

Big? Huge? Pretty? 

He hoped it was one of the above. Gojo had probably spent too long online browsing the average size of penises, but he was pretty sure his should exceed expectations. 

It wasn't as thick as some he'd seen in porn, but it was long, at least. Besides, he'd seen you satisfy himself with the fake one he sent you enough times so shouldn't the real one be even better? 

“Like it?” He asked, hope plaguing his tone. Really trying to ask if you liked him. 

“Mhm,” you nodded, soft and low as you skimmed your hands over his thick thighs. “Get on your back.” 

You wanted to trade spots again. 

He was trying to focus, to stop himself from saying or doing anything stupid or giving away just how inexperienced he was when he laid flat on your bed. Pre-cum smeared over his pink tip, throbbing at the open air, glancing over at the camera, seeing the chat flying by on the screen behind you before you were positioning yourself just over his cock. 

You didn't look. 

Your eyes were only on him. As if the rest of the world didn't exist. Didn't matter anymore. 

His hands were shaking a little as he reached for your slip, and you helped him pull it off over your head. Breasts bouncing, your body so much fucking better when he actually got to experience it, to feel your skin under his palms as he ran them over your waist. 

There wasn't nearly enough time for him to feel all of you. Torn between making frantic attempts at cataloging you and making the most of the moment while he had it, but you seemed to sense what was brewing inside of him. 

Knew how to shut up the voices inside his head. 

Your hips sank down, one of your hands resting on his chest to steady yourself before you started taking him in. His tip catching at your entrance at first, but then you readjusted again, wet enough that you didn't need lube for him to nudge inside and-

He shattered. 

Sanity splitting into a million tiny little pieces the second he felt your warmth wrapping around him, the tight rubber band of desire inside him threatening to not just snap, but dissolve into straight bliss as you took him in a single rough thrust. Going from nothing to everything all at once, your walls sucking him in. 

Nothing could compare to you. 

All those times he fucked his fist suddenly seemed futile. Just a pale mockery of what the real thing was like, groaning loudly and throwing his head back as his fingers dug into your hip. He tried to mind his strength, stop himself from bruising you, but he could barely control the guttural sounds coming from the back of his throat. 

“Isn’t he cute?” You asked, and his eyes were scrunched too tight to see what face he was making, even if he was sure you were finally acknowledging the rest of your audience. He rolled his hips up, feeling his tip nudge and grind against what he guessed was your cervix, that sweet little spongy spot that had you gasping. He finally cracked his eyes open, thick lashes fluttering at the sight of your gorgeous body grinding down on him. Your nails ran over his chest, tapping over his heart. “My pretty boy.” 

If tonight was about him, then maybe you wouldn’t mind him asking you to call him that again.

“Promise?” He asked, his voice wavering and thick as his brain continued to short-circuit. 

“Pinky swear,” you smiled, a cute crinkle next to where your makeup was beginning to run. Your usual waterproof mascara had been traded in for something that smeared, like you wanted him to see what a mess he made you. 

Gojo grinded up, getting a little more comfortable, holding onto you like you were his last tether to reality, even if it still seemed fake. At his fingers dimpling your flesh, you whined, pushing down until he was completely buried inside you, the muscles in your thighs probably aching from how spread they were. 

His cock practically jumped inside you. 

Warm pleasure swirling inside him, fraying the rope of rationality he couldn’t believe he was still clinging to. And just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, couldn’t hold out, you started to bounce. 

Sliding up-and-down on his thick shaft, letting his ridges and veins drag along your insides, slow at first, but steadily speeding up while he started desperately crying out your name. Not on purpose, just babbling, his thoughts all foggy and dazed as he gripped your waist and tried to help you. 

Lifting you up and bringing you back down, muscles working to copy the moves he thought he’d be better at, wishing he’d worn a condom so it wasn’t so hard to not snap. 

Gojo refused to cum. Scrunched his eyes shut as he buried his face in your skin, brain flashing any unappealing images he could conjure up and desperately failing to hold himself back. 

“F-fuck, you’re so-” He groaned, and you were huffing, leaning forward, pressing your chest against his, skin on skin, your breath on the inside of his neck as your lips left a light kiss on his collarbone. The new angle somehow forced his cock in even deeper, your walls clamping down. 

“I’m so what?” You teased, sucking softly, like you were trying to leave a hickey. To mark him as yours. Trailing kisses up to the hard line of his jaw, murmuring softly where he’d be the only one to hear. “Look at me, Toru.”

Gojo looked, and he came. 

Thick ropes of cum filling you up, a raw sound ripped from him as he thrusted up uselessly inside of you. Your eyes were gleaming, practically fucking glittering with his reflection in them, lips parted and glossy, your hands on his body and your heat on him, all the simmering sensations driving him fucking crazy as he stopped fighting the impulses burning him up inside. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he started rambling, rattling off every word he could think of that fit you as you continued to ride him raw. “Gorgeous, p-pretty, cute, sweet, i-irrestible-” 

“S-says you,” you stammered back, face flushing as your own focus slipped. 

His fingers slipped between your connected bodies, finding your swollen clit, still sensitive from your first climax, almost distressed as he attempted to get you to cum at the same time as him. Wanting you to feel as good as he felt. 

Rubbing circles over it now, putting as much pressure as he could, feeling you respond to him with more broken breathing. 

“C’mon,” he grunted, his other hand sliding around to wrap around your back, holding you tight and close, locking you into this position. “Cum for me, please.”  

Was begging unattractive? Pleading for you to join him in this intimacy? 

Either way, you started trembling, thighs shaking hard as you made some sharp little squeak, whimpering in response as you nodded. 

Catching his lips in another kiss, moaning into his mouth like it would do anything to muffle the sound. He swallowed it anyway. Devoured each noise as his own cum continued to leak out inside you, his cock still hard as it nudged against your cervix again. Dampness dripping down your thighs and onto him, probably some getting on your sheets too. 

“That’s it, fuck,” he murmured, assurance he didn’t know was meant for you or himself. 

“You wanna keep going?” You half-whispered in his ear, lips grazing against his skin – but he shook his head. He liked overstimulation, could probably fuck you for hours, but he wanted to do it in privacy. 

Where it was just you and him – where the audience wouldn’t get to see him crying into your skin. 

“Turn it off,” he muttered back, and you nodded, leaving another kiss on his forehead before you slid off of him. His arms fell limp to his side, blue eyes hazy, the world blurred around the edges and tinged with leftover pleasure. 

He was still trembling, shaking as his spent cock throbbed on his stomach, staring up at your beautiful figure as you shifted off of him. 

“Didn’t he do a good job?” You hummed, addressing the chat, back to your casual persona. “Maybe I should keep him.”

It was a joke, something meant to make the mood light – but he wanted so fucking badly for you to keep him. He’d chain himself to your bed if you let him. 

You were saying something else, talking about your next normal stream while you said goodbye – and he was reminded that after this, you would both go back to real life. Regularly scheduled programming. 

Gojo still sort of felt like a virgin. Utterly inexperienced when he watched you switch off the camera, his stare flicking from the shape of your legs to the way your tits lightly bounced leaning over the computer screen. Scrolling through something on your computer before you glanced back at him, offering a smile that almost felt shy. 

“So,” you said, but you didn’t finish your thought.

“That was-” He tried to finish it for you, but it hung out in the open, too many words to choose from that fit. Fantastic? Amazing? Unforgettable? 

“Great, yeah,” you nodded, as if you were on the same page. Filling in the blank with one of your own. “Really great.” 

“Uh-huh,” he breathed, for once in his life, lacking the ability to say what he wanted. 

To tell you how much it meant to him. 

“Did you get a hotel?” You asked, holding your own breath as you fiddled with your fingers. 

“Um, no, I, uh, drove here,” he stammered out, palms sweating as he sat up in your bed. Only to accidentally dipped his fingers in his own cum stains, immediately lifting it up and looking around for something he could wipe it off with. 

You giggled a little, light as you walked back over, getting down on your knees to lick the cum off. He almost came again just from the image alone, cock twitching between his sticky thighs. 

The feel of your tongue dragging over his knuckles, sucking until they were clean and the lewd pop! when you pulled them out.

“Do you want to stay the night?” 

“Yes,” he quickly answered again, cheeks heating up with embarrassment as he cringed at the neediness in his voice. 

“We should probably, like, shower first,” you softened, smiling up at him. “But we could watch one of those movies you told me about?” 

Nothing had ever sounded so fucking good. 

But the morning after managed to be even better. 

Waking up with you nestled in his arms was a feeling he suspected he’d spend the rest of his life chasing. The morning sun drifting in through your pretty lacy curtains. The quiet sound of your breathing. How cute your cheek looked squished on his bicep. The softness of your thigh when you had slotted in between his own. 

He couldn’t even blame his morning wood on testosterone. 

Gojo slowly snuck out from underneath you, making sure to fix the pillow underneath your head and tuck you back under the blanket before snagging his phone from his jeans on the floor. Padding silently over to your attached bathroom, trying his hardest to shut the door as quietly as possible before flicking on the light and the exhaust fan. 

He had more missed messages than he could scroll through the group message between his best friends. It appeared they had somehow managed to figure out that his ‘vacation’ was really just a guise to be with you. Maybe they used his spare key to get in, found his printed out travel plans on the counter or saw any of the messages left up on the computer. 

Suguru: Fucking answer asshole. 

Shoko: he’s probably asleep

Shoko: or dead lol

Suguru: I might kill him if he isn’t. 

Oops? 

He sat down on the closed toilet seat, muscled thighs spread out as he ran his fingers through his hair. He hesitated, brows scrunching together as he tried to figure out what to say before settling on announcing his big news. 

Although, maybe he should’ve said something other than: Guess who's not a virgin?

Gojo held his breath, nervously tapping his foot on the tiled floor while he waited for the … to pop back up once his message was immediately marked as read.

Suguru: Not funny. 

Shoko: ? 

Suguru: Where tf are you? 

There was a light knock on the bathroom door outside, and Gojo half-jumped up, his still-hard cock springing up at the same time and smacking into his abs just as you called his name outside. 

“Satoru?” You yawned, all soft and sweet. Need was pooling back in his stomach, hot and swirling despite him trying to cool it back down with the reminder you were probably just being nice. Only checking on him like a good host would. 

“Um, yeah?” He answered, his hand hovering over the door knob as he hesitated to open it. Would you judge him for being hard already? 

“Are you okay in there?” You asked, and he almost winced at the earnestness in it. You cared. Even if he was a dork and a loser who had never touched another woman before you. Even if he collected Digimon figures and was more comfortable playing dungeons and dragons than putting his dick in you. “Did I do something-”

“N-no,” he forced out, swinging the door open too fast, panicked by the hint of sadness in your voice, hitting his, uh, most sensitive area with it. 

Gojo almost crumpled, a pained moan escaping as you slipped through the crack of the door to see what was wrong. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” You started rambling, reaching out like you were going to pat his penis. 

“It’s okay,” he groaned, still wincing at the dull ache. 

Your frown deepened as you noticed his phone in his hand, but he was already waving it like it would explain itself.

“My friends were worried for me,” he muttered. 

“Oh,” you blinked. “Do they-”

“I’ve told them about you,” Gojo added, sighing as he ruffled his fingers through his messy hair. “Like, a lot.” 

“Good things?” You asked, rolling your shoulders back like you were getting more comfortable around him. 

“Just that I’m completely obsessed with you,” he chuckled, cringing again when it came out less like a joke and more like a truth.

That’s what it was, though, wasn’t it? 

Your eyes were on him, your lips just slightly parted like you had something to say and just couldn't work out how to say it. 

Gojo hesitantly met your stare, wondering if he was meant to say something, before you abruptly blurted out a question he never thought he'd hear from any woman. 

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” You practically squeaked, more high-pitched than you intended, blinking fast and glancing away like you were skittish. The girl who was happy to show off every sensitive spot on camera suddenly shy around him.  

“A date?” 

Was it really your fault for falling for a guy like him? 

You didn’t know when it started. Or well, that wasn’t exactly true. You did remember the first message he ever left for you. It was your third-ever stream, still uncomfortable around the camera as your fingers rubbed over your clit. He called you gorgeous. 

He came back for the next stream. And the next. 

Actually, he never really left. 

Dropping compliments and donations like it was nothing to him, your number one supporter who would shout his approval from the rooftops. He made you smile, lips curling up the second you saw his name in chat – and eventually in your messages too. 

From the first kiss, you knew you didn't want to kiss anyone else. 

Wanted to spend every morning waking up with him, curled against his chest or sifting your fingers through his soft strands of hair. 

You were greedy. You’d always known that. 

But that was probably part of the reason it worked so well. 

Gojo wanted to spoil you. To take care of you, whether it was tucking your hair behind your ear or buying you presents. Physical and emotional and material, fuck, even spiritually, he fulfilled every need or want – and somehow left you still craving more of him. 

He was a little dorky. Giving you lingerie that he thought you liked just to sneak in a second bag with a digimon keychain, stuttering through an explanation that he had one too, that he thought it would be cute if you both had virtual pets together. 

But you wouldn’t want him any other way. 

It didn’t stop with just one date. Your weekends now spent with him in your bed or on your couch, hand-in-hand going out shopping or listening to him ramble about his latest hyperfixation. He asked you to be his girlfriend in the middle of a movie, his head in your lap while you combed through his pretty white hair, looking up at you like a cute puppy dog. Cuddling one of your plushies against his chest, a new one he you were pretty sure he only bought because you said it reminded you of him. 

Satoru sighed into your skin now, fingers skimming over your arm as he pulled you closer into the street. Pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he murmured something about how starving he was.

You glanced up at him, still a little in awe that a guy as handsome as him was with you. And that he’d never actually been with another woman before either. He confessed he’d been a virgin before you took it after a couple weeks after sleepy sex, humming that he was your responsibility now. 

One you happily accepted. 

“Do you think your friends will like me?” You asked, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You were both supposed to meet them for brunch, assuage some of their fears that he was turning into a recluse. 

“I know they will,” Satoru promised, kissing the top of your head now. 

You paused in front of the restaurant, one he insisted you’d love, trying to work up the nerve to meet people that he’d told you so much about. The skeptic and the smoker, his closest friends – and ones you so badly wanted the approval of. 

Your phone vibrated in your purse, pulling it out to see it was bank calling. Probably to check that the deposit you were trying to put down on a new studio to film at. Satoru had suggested it – and said that he wouldn’t mind starring in a few more videos after how many donations the one he did with you got. 

“Shit,” you frowned at your phone. “Go ahead and order for me? This will just take a few minutes.” 

You didn’t realize that his friends might have thought he totally lost it until you walked in and overheard the conversation going on. 

“What’s next?” The guy sitting across from him sarcastically drawled. “Something will come up and she’ll have to leave before we see her?” 

“No,” Satoru protested, but he wasn’t done. 

“You can’t seriously expect us to believe that-” 

You tapped on his shoulder before he could finish. 

Dark hair almost hitting you as he swiveled back, jaw dropping the second he saw you standing there. 

“Hi there,” you smiled, holding your hand out to introduce yourself while he squinted at you as if you were some shimmering apparition. 

“You're real?”

“Did you think I wasn't?” You giggled, tilting your head to the side as Satoru stood up from the booth, hurrying over to slip an arm around your waist and guide you back to the seat next to him. 

“What do you see in him?” The girl, Shoko, deadpanned, poking at the food on her plate and staring between the two of you like she was trying to solve a puzzle.

“He’s your friend, too,” you laughed, shrugging your shoulders and leaning against your boyfriend. “I think Satoru’s sweet. And funny-” 

“You think he’s funny?” Geto echoed, like you just said something simply absurd. 

Satoru just grinned, squeezing you tight as his brilliant blue eyes flickered between you and his friends. 

“Do I get to say I told you so now?” 

that’s his way out. he just needs a smart partner who can carry his hopeless ass.

sukuna’s eyes sweep across the room, scanning for anyone who looks like they know what the hell they’re doing. most of the people he usually talks to in class are as useless as he is, too busy flirting or sleeping through lectures.

but then his gaze catches on someone sitting right up the front.

you.

the quiet girl with the tidy notes and the neat handwriting, the one who always answers when the professor asks a question no one else dares to.

you’re sitting there now, head slightly tilted as you jot something down, your pen gliding across the page with that easy confidence of someone who actually understands this shit.

you’ve always sat alone, tucked near the window. you never talk during lectures unless you have to, and even then your voice is small, hesitant. you wear oversized sweaters, keep your hair pinned up, and avoid eye contact with anyone who looks remotely like they belong to his world.

still, he’s noticed you before. everyone has. it’s hard not to. you’re the kind of girl that seems untouchable, not because you’re trying to be, but because you’re so far removed from everything he knows. soft, focused, real sweet.

and right now, you look like salvation.

he pushes up from his seat, ignoring the curious glances from a few classmates as he moves down the aisle. his tall frame blocks the light for a second when he stops beside your desk. you glance up, startled, your pen pausing mid-sentence.

"yo, my names sukuna. and you?"

"uh, hi? it's y/n." he smirks at your shy response, but continues.

“you’re like, a chem genius, right?” his tone is low, rough with disinterest, though his eyes linger on you a little too long.

you blink up at him, hesitant. “oh, um… i guess? why?”

“i need a partner, like, real bad,” he says, dropping the failed exam onto your desk with a dull slap. the red ink almost glows. “i'm gonna be honest, i completely fucked myself with this last exam. i can’t afford to fail again.”

you stare at the paper, then at him. up close, he’s intimidating. messy pink hair, dark eyes sharp and unreadable, tattoos trailing up his arms, his face, and peeking out from under his shirt collar.

he looks nothing like someone who’d ever ask for help, especially from you, and the fact that he’s doing it now makes your mind reel.

“i—look, don't take this the wrong way, but... theres a lot of people in this class,” you manage softly. “why pick me?”

he shrugs, leaning one hand on the desk beside your notes. “because you actually know what you’re doing. and i’m not looking to get stuck with some idiot who’ll drag me down, i'm already so fucking cooked."

you hesitate, glancing away. you’ve never really talked to him before. actually, you’ve barely even noticed him beyond the times you’ve seen him walking across campus with toji. that’s usually when your stomach does that stupid fluttering thing. watching toji laugh, his arm slung lazily around sukuna’s shoulders, both of them looking like they own the place.

it’s strange seeing one of them standing here now, asking you for help.

you fidget with your pen. “that's fine, sure. but… if we’re partners, wed have to split the workload.”

"yeah,” he says. “i can pull my weight, don't stress it, sweetheart. mostly just need someone to keep me from bombing it.”

it’s almost funny. he’s trying to sound casual, but something about the way he’s watching you feels uncharacteristically careful. like he’s actually waiting for your answer rather than being the overbearing dick he usually is.

maybe it’s because you’re cute. or maybe it’s because he knows you hold his fate in your small, nervous hands.

you chew your lip for a moment, then nod. “yeah, okay. i’ll help you out.”

his mouth tilts in a grin that’s half smug, half genuine relief. “good. 'preciate it, babe.”

you look down instantly, pretending to organize your papers so he doesn’t see the way your face warms. you weren't used to such casual name calling.

he drags a chair over from the next row and drops into it beside you, leaning back like he’s been sitting there all semester.

the professor’s voice fades into the background again as you stare straight ahead, trying to focus on anything but the fact that sukuna ryomen, the most notorious guy in beta tau, is now your project partner.

a few minutes pass in silence. the lecture drags on, your notes filling another page. but your mind’s racing the whole time. sukuna, meanwhile, can’t stop sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.

he hadn’t expected you to actually agree. and he definitely hadn’t expected to find himself curious about you. you’re so… different. not the kind of girl who shows up to parties. not someone who flirts back when he smirks at her. just quiet and sweet, head buried in your work, the type that shouldn’t even be in his orbit.

and yet here you are.

when the professor dismisses the class, people start packing up. you hesitate, fingers tightening around your pen. then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn to him.

“hey… sukuna?”

he hums, eyes flicking toward you lazily. “yeah?”

you look nervous, the words almost tripping over themselves before they leave your mouth. cute. “i’ll help you pass. but… can you help me out with something too?”

his brow arches. “hmm. depends what it is.”

you take a quiet breath. “it’s about your friend. uh— toji.”

that gets his attention. his posture stiffens a little. “what about him?”

you look down at your notebook, like it’s safer than looking at him. “i just… i think he’s really attractive. and he looks nice. i know it’s kind of stupid but i was wondering if maybe... you could help me get him to notice me.”

for a second, sukuna just stares at you.

out of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t it.

you, the shy little thing sitting up front, blushing and tripping over her own words, want toji fushiguro. one of the biggest assholes on campus. his best friend, sure, but a guy who barely remembers girls’ names after he sleeps with them.

he leans back slowly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “you’re serious?”

you nod, eyes still fixed on your notebook.

he studies you for a long moment. you’re fidgeting again, twisting your pen between your fingers, your voice so soft he almost misses it. “you don’t have to if it’s weird, i just thought… you two are close, so maybe…”

sukuna exhales through his nose. part of him wants to tell you it’s a bad idea. that toji doesn’t deserve someone like you. that you’d get hurt trying to chase a guy like that.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he tilts his head and says, “yeah, fine. i’ll help you out.”

your head snaps up, eyes wide. “huh— really?”

“yeah. but only because you’re saving my ass with this project,” he says, smirking a little. “guess we’ll call it even.”

you smile—small, bright, genuine—and something tightens in his chest. you're so cute.

“thank you,” you say quietly.

he grins again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “don’t mention it, honey.”

and as you pack up your notes, he watches you go, already trying to ignore the strange feeling crawling up the back of his neck.

he tells himself it’s just a deal. a trade. nothing more.

but as you disappear out the door, he can’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s gotten himself into more trouble than he realizes.

~

music blasts through the frat, heavy bass shaking the walls, bodies moving in rhythm across the living room floor. someone’s yelling over the noise, someone else is laughing too loud.

the air smells like bad beer, smoke, and sweat, the classic friday night cocktail that means beta tau is alive and wild again.

sukuna leans against the kitchen counter, red solo cup in hand, watching a game of beer pong play out in front of him. the noise is deafening, but it’s a familiar kind of chaos. toji’s across the table, grin sharp as he sinks another ping-pong ball into the last cup.

“hell yeah,” toji shouts, hands raised. “that’s another win for me, baby!”

someone hands him another drink, and he downs it in one go, slamming the cup down as the room cheers. toji fushiguro lives for this kind of night—beer, bets, and easy company. sukuna’s used to it, the routine almost comforting.

he joins the next round, barely losing after a stupid bounce, then lets himself collapse onto the sagging couch beside toji. the music’s pounding through the walls, but the corner they’re in feels quieter, almost like the noise fades around them.

toji stretches out, arm slung over the back of the couch, shirt sticking to his skin. “you’re slipping, man,” he says, smirking at sukuna. “used to be able to hold your own in beer pong.”

“fuck up,” sukuna mutters, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded. “that last shot was rigged.”

“rigged?” toji laughs, deep and unrestrained. “you’re just rusty.”

sukuna grunts, tossing his empty cup onto the coffee table. his head’s buzzing—not from the alcohol, just from thoughts he can’t quite shake.

the image of you, the way you looked earlier in class, keeps floating up uninvited. you sitting at the front of the room, your careful handwriting, the little way you’d fidget with your pen when you were nervous.

he doesn’t even realize he’s been quiet until toji elbows him. “yo, what’s got you zoning out?”

sukuna runs his tongue over his teeth, deciding. screw it. “you ever heard of someone named y/n?”

toji raises a brow, blinking like he didn’t catch that over the noise. “who?”

“y/n,” sukuna repeats.

toji shakes his head, lips quirking. “nah. that some new chick you’re banging?”

sukuna sputters, choking on air. “what? no. i’m not—” he cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. great. smooth start.

toji’s smirk widens. “come on, man. don’t get shy on me. you’re stuttering like some freshman.”

“shut up,” sukuna mutters, glaring at him. “it’s not like that.”

“then what’s it like?”

he hesitates, watching the light flicker off the beer bottles on the table. there’s no way to explain it without sounding weird. he’s not even sure why he’s bringing you up at all, except that he made a promise, and now he’s gotta start somewhere.

“she’s just… in my chem class,” he finally says. “smart as hell. the kind that actually knows what she’s doing, y’know?”

toji snorts. “so, a nerd.”

“yeah,” sukuna says, ignoring the way toji says it like it’s an insult. “but, like… cute. shy, quiet, nice, i guess.”

toji’s grin widens. “bro. you’re seriously telling me about a crush right now? what the hell happened to you?”

“it’s not a crush,” sukuna says quickly, though his voice comes out sharper than he means. “she’s just—” he stops, running a hand through his hair. “she’s helping me with chem, okay? and i told her i’d help her with something too.”

“what, she want free alcs?” toji laughs.

“no.” sukuna exhales through his nose. “she wants you.”

that earns him a pause. toji tilts his head, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide if he misheard. “me?”

“yeah.”

“as in… she wants to, what, date me?”

“basically.”

toji’s silent for a moment, then he breaks into a bark of laughter so loud it turns a few heads. “you’re kidding, right? some shy nerdy girl wants me?” he grins, tapping his chest. “guess she’s got good taste.”

sukuna grits his teeth. “don’t be an ass about it.”

“what? i’m not being an ass,” toji says, still smirking. “just saying, that’s not really my type, man. i like girls who can actually keep up, y’know?”

“yeah, i know,” sukuna mutters. “that’s kinda the problem.”

“problem?”

sukuna leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping low. “look, she’s… she’s sweet. like, actually sweet. the kind of girl that probably still says ‘sorry’ even when someone bumps into her first. you’d break her in half.”

toji shrugs, unbothered. “then maybe she shouldn’t be into me.”

“she doesn’t even know you,” sukuna says, frustration creeping into his tone. “she just saw you around. thinks you’re… i don’t know. hot and nice.”

“ha,” toji barks out a laugh, finishing his drink. “then she’s definitely got the wrong idea.”

sukuna sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. this was going nowhere.

he tries again, his tone careful. “i just figured maybe you could give her a chance. she’s not like the other girls you mess with. she’s…” he hesitates, searching for the right word. “different. the kind you’d actually like if you gave her five minutes.”

toji side-eyes him, clearly amused. “you trying to sell me a girlfriend or something? what’s in it for you?”

sukuna’s jaw tightens. “nothing. i told her i’d help her out, that’s all.”

toji grins, eyes glinting. “you sure about that? you sound kinda like you wanna keep her for yourself.”

sukuna’s silent for a beat, his pulse ticking faster than it should. “i don’t.”

“right. and i’m the pope.” toji laughs, leaning back. “are you high? tellin’ me about how cute and shy she is… just fuck her and move on, bro. no need for all this emotional shit.”

sukuna drags a hand down his face, groaning. “i wish i was fucking high. jesus, you’re impossible.”

the music gets louder again, another chant rising from the kitchen as someone calls for shots. toji stands, stretching, grinning down at him. “come on, man. stop thinking so hard. let’s go get wasted.”

sukuna waves him off. “nah, i’m good. go ahead.”

toji shrugs and disappears into the crowd. sukuna sinks further into the couch, head tipping back, letting the noise drown out the frustration burning in his chest.

this was going to be a nightmare.

.

the next morning, the fluorescent lights of the lecture hall feel like punishment. the air smells like stale coffee and paper, and the chatter around the room grates on his nerves. sukuna slouches into his seat, sunglasses hiding the exhaustion clinging to him.

you’re already there, of course. neat stack of papers beside your laptop, pen in hand, posture perfect. you glance up as he approaches, offering a small smile.

“morning,” you say softly.

“hey,” he mutters, sliding into the seat next to you.

the teacher doesn’t waste time, telling everyone to start working on their projects. pairs scatter across the room, some staying behind, others leaving for the library. you glance at sukuna, uncertain.

“should we…?”

“yeah, library,” he says before you can finish. “less noise.”

you nod quickly, tucking your notes under your arm as you follow him out.

the walk’s quiet. you keep close but not too close, fingers gripping the strap of your bag. sukuna glances at you once or twice as you walk, the sunlight catching the edge of your hair. there’s something weirdly calming about you, like your presence forces the chaos in his head to settle for a bit.

when you reach the campus library, you pick a small table near the back, away from the groups of whispering students. the morning light filters through tall windows, catching dust motes in the air. it’s quiet enough that every turn of a page feels loud.

you sit across from him, pulling your laptop from your bag. “um, before we start, maybe we should exchange contact info?”

he nods, pulling out his phone. “yeah. what's ya' number?”

you rattle it off, and he types it in. his phone pings a second later when you text him, and he adds your contact with a lazy swipe. then you both exchange social media.

you open your instagram to show him, but he’s already found it. your account’s small—cozy, soft colors, pictures of coffee cups, notes, and the occasional selfie that looks like you were trying not to take one.

then you look at his. thousands of followers, stories from parties, shirtless gym photos, snapshots of him and toji grinning like idiots with red cups in hand.

you blink, then smile politely. “ours are… really different.”

he huffs out a quiet laugh. “yeah. just a little.”

he doesn’t tell you that he finds it kind of adorable, how small and peaceful your corner of the internet looks compared to his chaos.

you both settle in to start discussing the project, papers spread between you. you talk about ideas, your voice growing steadier as you get into the topic. you explain concepts easily, your hands moving as you describe how you could structure the research, how to divide the work.

he listens. or tries to. mostly, he’s just watching the way you light up when you talk about something you love.

after a while, you pause, glancing at him with a small, hopeful look. “did you… talk to toji?”

he freezes for a fraction of a second, mind flashing back to last night—the laughter, the teasing, the absolute disaster of that conversation.

“yeah,” he says after a moment, forcing a smile. “i did.”

your eyes widen, curious. “what’d he say?”

he hesitates. you’re looking at him so earnestly, waiting for an answer, and he can’t bring himself to tell you that toji laughed it off, that he’d said something crude about just sleeping with you and moving on.

so he lies.

“he seemed interested,” sukuna says smoothly. “asked who you were. said you sounded cute.”

you go still for a moment, then your cheeks flush, and you duck your head. “really?”

“yeah,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “told him you were smart, nice. he said that’s rare.”

your shy smile makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t understand.

“that’s… really nice of you, sukuna,” you say softly. “thanks.”

he shrugs, forcing a grin. “told you i’d help.”

but as you turn back to your notes, still smiling faintly to yourself, he can’t look away. he doesn’t know what’s worse—the way lying to you actually hurts his heart, or the way part of him’s starting to wish that toji never finds out who you are.

because the thought of you smiling like that at anyone else makes his stomach twist.

~

the frat house is quieter than usual when sukuna pushes the door open.

no bass pounding through the walls, no laughter echoing down the hallway, no beer pong table clattering in the kitchen. just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant muffled sound of someone’s tv from another room.

it’s strange. unsettling, almost. he’s gotten used to the constant noise, the never-ending buzz of people that filled the house from dusk till dawn.

he kicks off his shoes at the door, shoulders rolling back as he heads for the stairs. his head still feels heavy from the long day, the faint scent of your shampoo stuck in his memory.

it’s weird—he’s been around a thousand girls, maybe more. girls who practically threw themselves at him, who laughed too loud at his jokes and leaned in too close.

but somehow, you—sitting across from him with that shy smile and your soft voice explaining inter molecular relationship—manage to stick in his head longer than any of them ever have.

his room’s dark when he steps inside, save for the light bleeding in from the street through the blinds. he tosses his keys onto the desk and falls back onto his bed, exhaling. the ceiling stares back blankly.

he doesn’t even mean to grab his phone, but his hand moves before he can think. he unlocks it, thumb hovering over instagram.

just checking something, he tells himself.

his fingers type your username into the search bar without hesitation.

your profile opens instantly.

the same cozy layout he remembered. a few new story highlights. your bio—something simple, maybe a quote or a flower emoji. his thumb scrolls down slowly, eyes following the grid of neatly arranged photos. you, a few landscapes, coffee cups, snippets of sunlight through your window, a cat that might not even be yours.

he stops when he sees a picture from about a month ago.

you’re holding a tiny puppy in your arms, your face caught mid-laugh, like someone had said something funny right before snapping the picture. the puppy’s paw rests against your chest, nose tucked near your chin. in your other hand, you’re holding a paper cup of coffee, a little swirl of foam peeking through the lid.

he stares at it for longer than he should.

it’s just a photo, nothing special, but something about it hits him hard . the little details—the way your fingers curl gently under the puppy’s paw, the sunlight catching on the curve of your cheek, the way your smile looks completely unposed.

he catches himself wondering stupid things.

was that your dog? probably not. maybe a friend’s. or some random one you met at a cafe.

was the coffee yours? it looks like something you’d order, something simple. maybe vanilla, maybe something with caramel.

where was that taken? some small corner cafe? a weekend morning somewhere quiet?

he doesn’t know. and that bothers him more than it should.

his thumb hovers over the photo for a second before he double-taps it. the little red heart fills in on the corner of the screen.

great. now you’re going to see that he liked a post from a month ago. real smooth.

he tosses his phone onto the bed beside him, covering his face with his hands.

“what the fuck am i doing,” he mutters.

he’s never been that guy. the one who scrolls through a girl’s profile like he’s studying for an exam. the one who cares enough to wonder what her favorite coffee order is, or if she likes dogs or cats more. he doesn’t ask those questions. he doesn’t want to ask those questions.

but he can’t stop himself.

he scrolls again, back up to your most recent post—another candid shot, you’re wearing one of those oversized sweaters you always seem to wear to class, sleeves pulled over your wrists.

you look peaceful. and sweet. and so painfully far from the world he lives in.

his throat tightens unexpectedly, he looks deeper, really looks at you.

you’re really fucking pretty.

he’d always known that. he’d noticed, sure—he’s not blind. the first day you’d agreed to work with him, he’d thought you were cute. adorable, even. but now, staring at your pictures, seeing the small glimpses of your life beyond those chemistry notes and shy smiles, he realizes it’s more than that.

you’re beautiful.

and that realization sits heavy in his chest, thick and uncomfortable.

because he knows exactly where this is supposed to go.

he still owes you. he still promised you something.

toji.

the thought of his friend’s name makes him exhale hard through his nose.

he can already picture it—if he brings you up again, toji will laugh the same way he always does. say something crude. maybe shrug and agree to meet you, just for the hell of it. and maybe you’d smile that soft, nervous smile at him, and maybe you’d fall for him harder than you already have.

and that image—that thought—makes sukuna’s jaw clench.

he shakes his head, forcing the phone screen off.

“get a grip,” he mutters, rolling onto his side.

but it’s no use. even as he closes his eyes, the image of you laughing with that puppy burns into the back of his mind.

~

two weeks pass withf lectures and late-night text exchanges about project deadlines.

you’ve met up three times since that first day at the library. each time, sukuna’s noticed small things—how you seem to relax around him more, how you’ve started teasing him lightly when he messes up an equation, how your laugh sounds quiet but genuine when he actually manages to make you smile.

and now, on the fourth meeting, he finds himself heading to the library again, trying to ignore the way his stomach feels weirdly tight.

you’re already there when he walks in.

same table. same corner near the back.

but this time, something’s different.

you’re standing by your seat, waving slightly when you see him. and in your hands, you’re holding two cups of coffee.

“hey,” you say, your voice bright and clear in a way that makes him pause.

he blinks, momentarily thrown off by how cheerful you sound. “hey,” he replies, trying to sound as casual as usual.

you hold out one of the cups toward him. “i, um, got this for you. black coffee, right?”

for a second, he just stares.

it’s stupid. it’s a coffee cup. but his mind stutters anyway.

“yeah,” he says, voice quieter than he means it to be. “yeah, that’s right.”

“i wasn’t sure how you take it,” you admit with a small laugh. “you seem like the kind of person who drinks it straight. no sugar, no milk.”

he huffs out a small laugh, taking the cup from you. “you got that right.”

“lucky guess.”

you sit down, cheeks faintly pink. he watches you for a second longer than necessary before clearing his throat and dropping into the chair across from you.

“thanks,” he says finally, lifting the cup slightly. “for the coffee.”

you smile, soft and genuine. “you’ve been helping me a lot with this, so i thought it was the least i could do.”

he wants to tell you that you’ve got it backwards—that you’re the one keeping him afloat, not the other way around—but he bites his tongue.

instead, he takes a sip, the bitter taste grounding him.

“you didn’t have to, y'know.”

“i wanted to,” you say, eyes flicking down to your notes.

and for a brief second, he feels his pulse skip.

you wanted to.

he tries to shake the feeling, pulling out his own notes. “alright, so. what’s the plan for today?”

you talk about the experiment data, what needs to be written up, the references you still have to gather. he listens, but part of him’s distracted.

it’s the way you’re talking now—louder, lighter. you’re not tripping over your words anymore. you’re not afraid to meet his eyes. the shy girl who could barely look at him two weeks ago is now smiling at him between sentences.

and fuck if that doesn’t make something twist in his chest.

as the minutes pass, the project talk starts to blur into something else. he’s the one who changes the subject first.

“so,” he says, leaning back slightly. “what’s with you and coffee? every time i see you, you’ve got one.”

you look up from your laptop, blinking. “i just like it, i guess. i go to this little place near campus almost every morning before class.”

“the one with the green sign?”

“yeah, that one.”

“figured.”

you laugh quietly. “you go there too?”

“sometimes,” he says. “after workouts. they’ve got good espresso.”

you tilt your head. “you work out every morning?”

“almost,” he says, smirking faintly. “gotta keep my sexy frat guy aura in tact.”

“oh, right,” you tease, eyes glinting a little. “wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans.”

he blinks, caught off guard. “fans?”

“your instagram,” you say, trying not to laugh. “you’ve got, like, a thousand girls following you. i saw.”

he groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “don’t remind me.”

“why?”

“because half of them don’t even go to this school,” he says, grinning a little. “they just… show up.”

you laugh, the sound soft but real, and he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

after that, the conversation drifts. you talk about random things—your classes, your favorite kind of music, the dog from your photo (“that’s my friend’s puppy,” you explain. “he’s named mochi.”).

sukuna finds himself asking questions, more than he’s ever asked anyone before. not just because he wants to fill the silence, but because he genuinely wants to know.

you tell him about your hobbies, your part-time job at the campus bookstore, how you’re saving up for a trip after graduation.

he listens. really listens.

and for every small thing you share, he feels himself drawn in deeper.

when the session finally ends, the clock showing that two hours have slipped by without either of you noticing, you start packing up your things.

“same time next week?” you ask, glancing up.

“yeah,” he says. “same spot.”

you smile again, that soft, shy one that makes his chest ache.

and as you wave goodbye and walk out of the library, sukuna stays seated for a moment, staring at the empty chair across from him.

he should be thinking about the project. about grades. about keeping his promise to you.

but all he can think about is how the smell of coffee still lingers faintly on his fingers—and how, somehow, that’s become his favorite part of the day.

~

the frat house always feels heavy on monday mornings. air thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne, half-empty red cups scattered on tables like small grave markers from the weekend before. sukuna drags himself through the hallway, towel hanging around his neck, hair still damp from a quick shower.

toji’s already waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a protein shake in one hand and his phone in the other. he looks up when sukuna walks in, flashing that familiar cocky grin.

“yo, you down to hit the gym?”

sukuna doesn’t even hesitate. “for sure.”

mondays are brutal, but skipping a session isn’t an option. not when you’ve got someone like toji keeping score. they finish off their drinks, grab their bags, and head out.

the campus is still quiet. early morning sun stretches across the pavement, birds chirping somewhere above. their sneakers hit the concrete in sync.

“bro, did you see the game last night?” toji asks, tossing a smirk his way.

“yeah,” sukuna mutters. “you owe me twenty.”

toji groans. “bullshit. that last call was garbage.”

“still counts.”

they go back and forth for a while—typical talk. girls, workouts, who pulled who at the last party. toji’s loud, animated, the kind of guy who fills silence with his own voice. sukuna listens, laughs when he should, but half his mind’s somewhere else.

they’re cutting across the main quad when he spots you.

you’re walking toward one of the lecture halls, tote bag slung over your shoulder, hair catching the light in a way that makes his breath hitch.

you’re wearing something simple—a cute shirt and nice jeans, your hands wrapped around a coffee cup—but somehow it makes you stand out more than anyone else on the path.

you don’t see him, too focused on your phone, but his chest tightens anyway.

for a second, it’s like the rest of the campus fades away.

then he remembers who’s walking beside him.

toji’s still talking about some girl he hooked up with over the weekend, words fading into the background as sukuna’s jaw tightens. he forces his eyes away, tells himself to stop being weird. this is stupid. you’re just his lab partner.

except he’s not supposed to be thinking about how good you look in the morning light. he’s supposed to be thinking about the deal.

the one with toji.

his throat feels dry as he forces himself to speak.

“hey,” he says suddenly. “you remember that girl i was talking about the other night?”

toji glances over, raising a brow. “the chem one?”

“yeah. that’s her.”

he nods toward you before he can second-guess it.

toji slows immediately, his attention shifting in your direction. you’re still walking across the path, the sunlight brushing over your face as you look up for a moment, squinting.

sukuna watches as toji literally stops in his tracks.

“no way,” toji says, eyes widening. “that’s her?”

“yeah,” sukuna mutters.

“holy shit.” toji’s grin spreads, sharp and impressed. “you didn’t tell me she was that cute.”

sukuna doesn’t respond. he just keeps walking, pretending to be unfazed, but every word toji says feels like it’s digging deeper under his skin.

“seriously, bro,” toji continues, still staring after you even as you disappear into the building. “you made her sound like some dorky little nerd. i was picturing ugly glasses, messy bun, the whole thing. but she’s—damn. she’s adorable.”

sukuna’s stomach twists. he forces a smirk, because that’s what’s expected. “yeah, she’s not bad.”

“not bad?” toji laughs, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me, man?”

“nah,” sukuna says quickly. “just didn’t think you’d be into that type.”

“what type?”

“the smart, quiet type,” he says, voice flat. “thought you liked girls who could ‘keep up,’ remember?”

toji scoffs. “yeah, well, she’s too cute to pass up. shit, you should let me tag along next time you’re studying with her. see what she’s like up close.”

sukuna forces a laugh, but it comes out strained. “yeah, sure. whatever.”

inside, he’s cringing so hard he feels sick.

they head into the gym, the sound of clanging weights filling the space. he tries to focus—on the burn in his muscles, the rhythm of his breathing—but his thoughts won’t shut up. toji’s words keep echoing. she’s adorable. she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me?

this was what he was supposed to do. this was the plan. introduce you to toji, let things fall into place, make good on his end of the deal.

so why does it feel so wrong?

~

the next study session comes faster than he expects.

the day’s overcast, the library quiet except for the soft hush of the air conditioning. you’re already there when he walks in, sitting in your usual spot by the window, books neatly stacked, pen tapping absently against your notebook.

you look up when you hear his voice.

“hey,” he says, slipping through the aisles toward you.

your face brightens instantly, that small, warm smile tugging at your lips.

“hi,” you say, already starting to greet him—

then your voice falters.

because right behind him, towering and broad-shouldered, is toji.

your words die halfway out of your throat, eyes going wide. he’s impossible to ignore—dark hair, sharp grin, that easy confidence that radiates from him like static.

sukuna can see the exact moment you freeze. your fingers grip your pen a little too tightly, your posture going stiff.

“this is toji,” sukuna says, trying to sound casual. “he wanted to tag along today.”

“hey,” toji says smoothly, pulling up a chair without asking. “nice to meet you, y/n.”

you nod, cheeks pink. “h-hi.”

it’s awkward from the start. painfully so.

sukuna tries to start things off, opening his notebook and asking about the data you collected last week, but toji’s already jumping in with his own questions—none of them relevant.

“so,” toji leans forward, elbows on the table. “you’re really good at this chem stuff, huh? always been a little nerd?”

you laugh nervously, eyes flicking between the two of them. “i… guess so?”

“yeah, i could never,” he says, shaking his head. “i barely passed last year. too many parties, you know how it is.”

you nod politely, but the look on your face says it all—you have no idea what to say.

sukuna clenches his jaw.

toji keeps going, oblivious. he talks about the last frat party, about the time he benched two hundred in front of half the football team, about some girl who texted him last night. you just sit there, smiling faintly, giving small nods and quiet hums of agreement.

it’s brutal.

every word toji says feels like a slow car crash sukuna can’t stop. he knows he should’ve expected this—this was always how toji was—but now that it’s happening in front of you, he can’t stand it.

you’re sitting there, trying so hard to be polite, cheeks flushed, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve. and for the first time, sukuna hates how loud the other guy is. hates how he’s filling the space that’s always felt quiet and easy with you.

after what feels like forever, toji’s phone buzzes. he glances down, reads the message, and stands up.

“gotta head out,” he says, smirking. “good luck with your project, sweetheart. maybe i’ll swing by next time, yeah?”

before you can respond, he gives you a wink.

you freeze again, murmuring something that barely sounds like a goodbye.

he leaves, whistling under his breath, completely unaware of how painfully awkward that was.

the second he’s out of sight, sukuna exhales hard and runs a hand through his hair.

“fuck,” he mutters. “sorry about that.”

your eyes widen a little. “oh, um, it’s fine.”

“no, seriously,” he says, glancing at you. “i should’ve told you i was bringing him.”

you hesitate, then smile, shy but real. “it’s okay. i was just… nervous, i guess.”

he tilts his head. “why?”

you look down at your notes. “he’s just… kind of intense. i didn’t expect that.”

“yeah,” he says quietly. “he’s like that.”

the silence that follows isn’t awkward, though. it’s calm. steady.

you’re visibly more relaxed now, shoulders no longer so tight, your voice softer when you start talking again. sukuna listens, his chest loosening with every word.

you don’t mention toji again.

and he doesn’t either.

for the rest of the session, it’s just the two of you again—back to the easy rhythm he didn’t realize he’d missed until it was gone. you explain a reaction mechanism, he teases you about your handwriting, you roll your eyes and laugh.

when it’s time to leave, you pack up your things slowly, almost like you don’t want the moment to end.

“see you next week?” you ask.

“yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. “next week.”

you give a small wave, and as you walk out, sukuna watches you disappear between the shelves, that same quiet warmth settling in his chest.

he should feel relieved—he did what he was supposed to. he introduced you to toji. he followed through.

but instead, he just feels like he’s made a mistake.

because the whole walk back to the frat, the only thing running through his head isn’t how toji couldn’t shut up or how awkward the whole thing was.

it’s how your voice had softened when you told him it was fine. how your eyes met his, even for a second, and he felt that stupid little spark again.

he doesn’t know what to call it. doesn’t want to.

but deep down, he knows one thing for sure.

the next time you two meet, he’s showing up alone, keeping you to himself.

~

music pounds through sukuna's chest, pulsing out of the open doors of the sorority like a heartbeat on overdrive. laughter spills down the steps, mixed with the sharp scent of alcohol and perfume and that sticky-sweet haze that always clings to these kinds of parties.

banners hang crooked above the door, fairy lights tangled like spiderwebs. the sorority girls really went all out.

it’s a mixer. one of those invite-only things, where every girl in greek row tries to get noticed by the “right” house. and sukuna’s frat—their house—was always the right one. full of grade A hotties like sukuna and toji and successful athletes like gojo and geto.

he spots toji near the entrance, already in his element. white t-shirt, chain glinting at his throat, grin carved sharp enough to cut through the noise. every few seconds, someone calls his name. girls from different sororities, guys from the rugby team, even one of the organizers waving him over.

toji was built for this. sukuna knew it. hell, everyone did.

“about time, man,” toji says when sukuna steps up beside him. “thought you’d bailed.”

“nah,” sukuna mutters. “just took my time.”

“yeah, well, tonight’s supposed to be wild. let’s make the most of it.”

they shoulder their way through the crowd, music pounding overhead, the smell of beer and sweat and too much perfume thick in the air. sticking together like usual.

a few girls call out sukuna’s name as they pass, and he just flashes that lazy grin he’s perfected—the one that says he’s not interested, but he might be later.

it’s all automatic now. the smirk, the eye contact, the way his shoulders roll when he laughs. it’s all muscle memory.

but tonight, something feels off.

maybe it’s the way every laugh sounds fake. maybe it’s the way the lights flash too bright, painting everyone in the same plastic color.

maybe it’s because all he can think about is you.

they end up in the kitchen, where the music’s still loud but not deafening. beer pong’s already set up on the long dining table, cups half-filled, ping-pong balls scattered across the sticky surface.

toji grabs a ball and grins. “let’s go. loser does a shot.”

sukuna smirks, rolling up his sleeves. “you’re on.”

they start playing, drawing a small crowd of girls who cheer and giggle at every throw. toji’s competitive as always, talking shit between shots, while sukuna plays quiet and steady. the rhythm feels familiar—the weight of the ball, the sound of it hitting the cup, the way everyone leans in to watch.

after two rounds, they’re tied. toji wins one, sukuna the other. the girls watching don’t seem to care who’s winning—they’re too focused on the way the two of them look, the easy confidence that comes with knowing the room revolves around them.

and then they descend.

a blonde slides up beside toji, pressing herself against his arm. another girl, brunette this time, drapes herself over sukuna, laughter dripping from her lips like honey.

“you guys are, like, scary good at this,” she says, voice high and flirty.

“practice,” sukuna says automatically. his smirk looks real enough. it always does.

her nails trace the edge of his sleeve, and she leans closer. “bet you’re real good at other things too.”

normally, this is the part where he’d lean in, let the moment pull him under. he knows how this goes—shots, dancing, slipping upstairs when the music gets too loud. normally he'd do anything for a quick fuck.

but tonight, it doesn’t land.

he looks down at her, at the perfect makeup and glitter around her eyes, and all he can think is how different she is from you.

how you’d never lean on someone like this. how you’d never grab at someone you just met. how when you talked, you actually meant what you said.

his jaw tightens.

toji’s already got two girls around him, laughing loudly, drink in one hand, the other at someone’s waist. he looks like he’s having the time of his life. and for the first time, sukuna feels nothing but exhaustion watching it.

the brunette keeps talking—something about the psych department, something about a pool party next weekend—but her words fade into static.

god, he can’t stop thinking about you.

he pictures your small smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous. the way your voice lifts just slightly when you talk about something you love. the way your eyes meet his only for a second before darting away again.

then he thinks about how you’d react if you saw this.

if you saw toji right now—grinning, drunk, hands everywhere.

you’d look crushed. maybe not outwardly, but he knows you’d feel it. he can see that tiny flicker of hurt in his head, your lips pressing together, pretending not to care.

and for some reason, that thought hits him like a punch.

you’d be heartbroken over a guy like toji. and he hates that. hates it enough that his fake smirk starts to slip.

because toji’s the one you wanted. and toji’s right there, laughing with some random girl like you never even existed.

it makes his stomach twist.

the brunette leans in closer, her perfume cloying and too strong. she presses her lips against his neck, and something cold floods through him instead of the usual heat.

he stiffens.

she pulls back, confused, maybe even offended, but he just steps away, shaking his head.

“you good?” she asks, pouting a little.

“yeah,” he mutters. “just—need a smoke.”

he grabs a beer from the counter and makes his way outside.

the air’s cooler out here, cleaner. it hits his lungs in a way that almost feels like relief. he digs into his pocket, finds his pack, and lights up. the first drag burns his throat, grounding him a little. he thinks back to the time you'd seen a flash of the packet in his pocket, the look of concern plastering your cute face.

"you smoke cigarettes? y'know that pretty bad for you, sukuna..."

he sighs and takes another drag, he knew you were right, hell, he even cut down after that little statement.

inside, the party’s still raging. someone shouts, laughter echoing off the walls. he hears toji’s voice above the rest, loud and easy and so damn sure of himself.

sukuna exhales a long stream of smoke and stares out at the street.

why’s he even thinking about you like this?

you're just a girl. just a project partner. you needed his help, he needed yours. that’s all it was supposed to be.

but then he remembers how you'd smiled when he showed up on time for once, how you’d brought him that stupid cup of coffee just because you thought he’d like it. how careful you’d been, shy but trying.

and now he’s here, surrounded by everything he used to want, feeling nothing but restless.

he thinks about the library tomorrow morning.

you’d be there early. you always are. waiting at the same table, your notebook open, your pen tapping as you concentrate. you’d look up when he walks in, offer that small, quiet smile like you’re genuinely happy to see him.

the thought of showing up hungover makes his stomach knot.

he can’t let you see him like that. not reeking of beer, not bleary-eyed and half-dead from a night he didn’t even enjoy.

he flicks the ash off his cigarette, curses under his breath.

“what the fuck am i doing?”

he looks back toward the house. the windows are glowing with golden light, silhouettes moving inside. laughter spills out again, shrill and wild.

that used to feel like home.

now it just feels loud.

he takes another drag, the ember lighting up in the dark.

this isn’t him. at least, it’s not the version of him you’ve seen. the one who actually listens, who tries, who stays sober enough to remember what you said about catalysts and reactions. the one you’ve somehow turned him into without even knowing.

he huffs out a quiet laugh, bitter and low.

you’d probably never believe it if someone told you sukuna ryomen left a mixer early because of a girl.

but here he is.

he stubs out the cigarette, tosses the butt into the gutter, and pulls his jacket tighter around him.

he steps back inside just long enough to find toji at the beer pong table, a girl perched on his lap now, and rolls his eyes.

“yo,” toji calls over. “where the hell’d you go?”

“m' heading out,” sukuna says. “got shit to do tomorrow.”

toji raises a brow. “it’s friday, man.”

“yeah. i know.”

“whatever,” toji laughs. “your loss.”

sukuna just shrugs, already turning toward the door.

the music fades behind him as he walks out again. the night air hits him, cool against his skin. campus is mostly empty now, streetlights flickering.

he lights another cigarette as he walks, the smoke curling up into the cold.

his mind won’t stop racing.

he thinks about you again, about how small you look sitting behind your laptop, about the way you focus so hard you don’t notice him staring sometimes. about how quiet the world feels when it’s just the two of you in that corner of the library.

you’d laugh if you saw him now. the guy everyone calls a monster, walking home early from a party just because he wants to look sober in front of some shy chemistry nerd.

but it’s not just that anymore.

he doesn’t want to look sober. he wants to look good for you.

he wants you to think he’s better than this. better than what everyone thinks he's like.

he blows out smoke and watches it fade into the dark.

when he gets back to the frat, the house is nearly empty—most of the guys are still at the mixer. it’s quiet for once. he climbs the stairs, every step heavy, and stops at his door.

he stares at the handle for a second before going in.

the room smells like cologne and laundry detergent. his desk’s still a mess, papers and dumbbells scattered everywhere. he drops onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, cigarette burning low between his fingers.

he should sleep. he should forget tonight.

but all he can see is you.

your smile. your voice. your eyes when they meet his and flick away just a second too fast.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

he ashes the cigarette in the tray, lets his head fall back, and closes his eyes.

the thought of you lingers like smoke in his lungs. intoxicating, slow, impossible to shake.

and for the first time in a long time, the idea of tomorrow doesn’t feel like just another day. it feels like something he’s waiting for.

~

the sun crawls through the blinds too early for a saturday.

pale light drags itself across the room, landing on the mess of clothes and empty bottles scattered over the frat floor. everyone’s still passed out.

bodies everywhere. some sprawled across couches, others snoring in corners, heads tipped back with half-empty beer cans slipping from their hands.

but not sukuna.

he’s awake.

he’s the only one who doesn’t feel like he got hit by a truck. no pounding head, no sour stomach. just the faint trace of smoke on his tongue and the quiet buzz in his chest that’s been there since last night.

he sits up, rakes a hand through his hair, and exhales. the air smells like sweat and cheap vodka. he looks around at the disaster that was his frat house—sticky floors, someone’s shoe on the counter, a guy in nothing but boxers drooling into the carpet—and shakes his head.

he’s not sticking around for the aftermath.

there’s something about this morning, something clean, light, strange. he grabs his hoodie, slings his bag over his shoulder, and checks his phone. too early for most people. not too early for you.

he smiles a little at that.

when he walks into the hallway, a few guys groan from the couch.

“yo,” one of them croaks. “where the hell are you going? it’s like… eight?”

“got plans,” sukuna says, slipping on his sneakers.

“plans?” another mumbles, half-asleep. “with who?”

“no one,” sukuna says quickly. “don’t worry about it.”

he’s already halfway out the door before they can start asking more questions. the last thing he needs is toji—or anyone, really—catching wind of this and deciding to tag along like last time.

the air outside hits him cold and fresh. campus is quiet, only the occasional sound of birds or a bike rolling past. everything’s washed in soft gold light, the kind that makes the world look cleaner than it really is.

he starts walking.

there’s a bounce in his step that he tries to ignore. it feels stupid to feel this way. giddy. like he’s got something worth looking forward to. he tells himself it’s just because he didn’t drink last night. he’s clear-headed. alert. that’s all.

but he knows it’s a lie.

the café comes into view just down the block. it’s the one you always go to—the one with the green sign. he remembers the first time he saw you there, hunched over your laptop with a coffee that had already gone cold, scribbling in your notebook like the world might end if you looked up.

the memory makes his chest feel weird.

he pushes open the door, the little bell chiming. the barista greets him with a sleepy smile. he glances over the glass case, scanning the pastries. croissants, muffins, a few danishes. then he spots the one he remembers you ordering once—flaky and soft, sugar dusted over the top.

“one of those,” he says, pointing.

the barista wraps it up neatly in paper. sukuna hands over the cash, then hesitates when she asks if he wants a drink.

he almost says yes. almost orders a sweet coffee for you.

but then he remembers.

you’ll already have one right now, you always do.

“nah,” he says, shaking his head. “js' the pastry.”

he walks out with the small paper bag in hand, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

he feels ridiculous. it’s a fucking pastry. but somehow it feels like more than that. like he’s carrying a confession.

when the library comes into view, he spots you right away.

you’re there, in your usual spot. that back table near the window, the one you’ve claimed without ever really saying so. your coffee’s beside your laptop, steam curling up faintly. you’re biting your lip, eyes narrowed in concentration as you read through something.

and god, you’re cute.

it slaps him all over again.

the way your hair falls forward, the soft sweater you’re wearing, the tiny crease between your brows. you’re not trying to be anything. you’re just there, focused, quiet, real.

he stands there for a second, just watching.

then he remembers himself and walks over.

“g'morning,” he says.

you look up, startled, then your whole face softens when you see him. “oh—hi! you’re early.”

“yeah,” he says, dropping his bag into the chair across from you. “didn't wanna sleep in today.”

you laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “fair.”

he pulls the paper bag from his hoodie pocket and slides it across the table.

he holds it out to you. “for you. figured you might want breakfast.”

you blink, startled. “wait, really?”

“yeah. it’s from that cafe you like.”

your mouth falls open slightly, and your cheeks go pink in that way he’s starting to adore. “you... remembered that?”

“guess so.”

you take the bag from him carefully, like it’s something fragile. when you peek inside and see what it is, your expression softens even more.

“oh my god,” you whisper, smiling so hard your eyes crinkle at the corners. “this is my favorite one.”

he watches, almost helpless, as you keep talking, thanking him over and over. your voice stumbles with embarrassment, your fingers fidget with the bag, and the more flustered you get, the more something warm spreads through his chest.

“you didn’t have to—really, that’s so sweet of you.”

“it’s nothing,” he says, but his voice is rougher than he means it to be. “just figured you might be hungry.”

you look down, still smiling. “thank you.”

and it hits him, how long it’s been since a girl said that to him and meant it.

you break the silence first, switching to the assignment, pulling up your notes and explaining something about the next section. he nods along, but he’s not really listening. he’s watching the way you push your hair behind your ear, the way your brows furrow when you focus.

he forces himself to pay attention. still, the moment feels easy.

you talk for a while about the project, comparing notes, trading small jokes. he feels himself relax into the rhythm of it, like it’s become a routine.

and then, without warning, you bring up toji.

you clear your throat first, eyes flicking down to your notes. “so, um... toji.”

he stills, one brow lifting, you were finally gonna talk about him since that awful run in last time. “hmm?”

“he’s… very…” you trail off, searching for the word. “loud.”

he snorts. “that’s one way to put it.”

“and, um, big. like—physically. and personality-wise. very… confident.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. sorry about that. he’s… a lot. again, i didn’t mean to unleash him on you like that.” he was apologising again, so out of character for him but he couldn't help it. not with you.

“no, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “he’s just… different than i expected.”

“different how?”

you hesitate, chewing your lip. “i guess i thought he’d be more like you.”

the words hang between you for a second. his pulse stutters.

“like me, huh?” he says, teasing, leaning back in his chair, spread wide as he looks you up and down. “what’s that supposed to mean, hm?”

you go red instantly, trying to drag your eyes away from his man spread legs. “i just meant—you’re, um, thoughtful. more focused. not overbearing, you're nice...”

he grins. "nice, huh?"

you hide your mouth behind your hand and look off to the side. "nicer than toji, yeah."

he laughs, "that's not a very high bar to clear."

you giggled in response, letting him continue.

“so you like my type better?”

“that’s not what i said,” you mumble, covering your face with your hand again.

“didn’t have to.”

you peek at him through your fingers, and he has to bite back a laugh. your cheeks are so pink it hurts to look at you.

“you’re bullying me,” you say, your voice small.

“maybe.”

you shake your head, still smiling, and reach for your coffee. he watches the way you hold it, the delicate tilt of your wrist, the little sigh you make after a sip.

then, quieter, he asks, “so… you still interested in him? toji, i mean.”

you freeze.

“i—uh.” your voice falters. “i guess so? i... i don’t know.”

“you don’t sound sure.”

“he’s just—not what i thought he’d be. i thought he’d be a little calmer.”

“he’s not really the type to surprise you in a good way,” sukuna says.

you smile faintly, eyes on your cup. “yeah. maybe not.”

the way you say it, soft, thoughtful, uncertain, it makes his chest ache.

you’re too sweet for this. too genuine. you deserve someone who actually listens, who doesn’t treat you like background noise. and for some reason, he hates that the person you’re hung up on is his best friend.

he sighs, rubbing his jaw.

you look up, curious. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” he says, forcing a smile. “just tired.”

you nod, and the two of you fall back into quiet work. it’s peaceful again, the only sounds the soft click of your keyboard and the scratching of his pen. time blurs.

when you finally close your laptop, stretching your arms, he realizes two hours have passed.

“we got a lot done,” you say, smiling.

“yeah,” he says, though he can’t remember a thing you just studied.

you start packing your things, tucking the empty pastry bag into your bag. before you can leave, you hesitate. then, shyly, you step closer and wrap one arm around him in a little side hug.

“thank you,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “for breakfast. and for helping me.”

for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

you smell like coffee and sugar and something faintly floral. your hand rests briefly against his side, and he swears every nerve in his body lights up.

then you pull away, smiling up at him, oblivious to the chaos you’ve just caused.

“see you tomorrow?”

“yeah!” he says quickly, way too excited. “d-definitely.”

you wave and head out, the door swinging shut behind you.

he stands there for a full minute, still staring at the spot you’d been standing, until he realizes his hands are clenched and his pulse is hammering.

he grabs his bag, mutters something under his breath, and heads outside.

the moment he’s in the open air again, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

the breeze does nothing to cool the heat crawling under his skin.

he walks fast, head down, eyes on the pavement.

every step feels heavy with restraint.

because all he can think about is how soft you felt, how small your hand was against him, how much he wanted to pull you in, bury his face in your neck, keep you there for hours.

he curses under his breath, tugging his hoodie lower, hoping it hides the problem growing in his jeans.

“get it together,” he mutters.

he tries to think about anything else—the assignment, the game tomorrow, the half-finished paper on his desk—but his mind keeps circling back to you. your laugh. your blush. your hug.

by the time he reaches the frat, his heartbeat’s finally starting to slow, but the feeling stays. that dizzy mix of guilt and want.

he steps inside quietly, the house still a mess of half-dead hangovers, and slips upstairs to his room.

the first thing he does is sit on his bed, elbows on his knees, and let out a long, shaky exhale.

he’s in trouble.

he knows it.

because he can’t stop smiling.

~

the gym in the frat house isn’t much. it’s a dim room tucked behind the kitchen, with cracked mirrors and rusted weights, the air always heavy with the stale scent of sweat and cheap deodorant.

the guys call it a “home gym,” but it’s really just a collection of mismatched dumbbells, an old bench press, and a speaker that always buzzes when the bass hits too hard. its nothing like the fancy campus one him and toji visit, still, it works for sukuna.

he’s halfway through a set, sweat sliding down the back of his neck, when his thoughts start slipping away from the burn in his muscles and land right where they always seem to go lately.

he tries to ignore it, focusing on the motion, the rhythm, the push and pull of the bar in his hands.

but the harder he tries not to think about you, the more vivid you become. your voice, soft but steady, your shy little smiles whenever he cracks a joke, the way you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re trying not to blush.

it’s infuriating, how easily you creep into his head.

he exhales sharply, finishing the set with a grunt, letting the bar clang down harder than he means to. it rattles against the frame, echoing in the small room.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, sitting up and grabbing the towel draped over his shoulders.

he wipes his face, breathing hard, his reflection in the mirror smudged with fingerprints and dust. he looks exhausted, not just from the workout but from everything sitting in his head.

you and toji.

you and that stupid, innocent crush you’d confessed to him like it was nothing.

he leans forward, elbows on his knees, towel hanging loosely around his neck. he can’t keep fucking around pretending like this is going to work anymore.

he can’t sit through another study session with you knowing that toji knows you're into him.

toji doesn’t even remember half the girls he flirts with, so why should he get to occupy that sweet spot in your brain.

that thought alone makes his blood boil.

you’re too good for that. too damn good.

he picks up the dumbbell again, trying to lift through the frustration, but his mind keeps racing. toji’s face flashes in his mind—the obnoxiousness, his interest in you only after finding out what you looked like.

the memory makes his jaw clench.

toji doesn’t deserve to know you exist, let alone be someone you lose sleep over.

his grip tightens around the handle. he lifts again, but it feels pointless now, his muscles burning for a different reason entirely.

finally, he slams the weight down and stands up, chest heaving.

he’s done.

done thinking he can stomach this, done keeping that deal, done lying to himself.

without even thinking about it, he walks out of the gym, towel still slung over his shoulder. his feet move on instinct, carrying him through the hall, up the grand stairs, straight to toji’s room.

the door’s half-shut, light spilling from the gap, and he doesn’t bother knocking. he pushes it open, the wood hitting the wall with a dull thud.

toji’s sprawled across his bed, shirtless, scrolling through his phone. there’s a protein shake on the desk, a game controller tangled in the sheets. he looks up lazily when sukuna appears.

“yo,” he says, grinning. “you look pissed. what, satoru stealing your shirts n' shit again?”

sukuna doesn’t answer. he stands there for half a second, jaw tight, and then the words just fall out before he can stop them.

“y/n has a boyfriend,” he blurts. “so you can forget the whole crush on you thing.”

toji blinks, confused. “uhm?”

“what,” sukuna says, crossing his arms. “shes got a guy.”

toji sits up slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “who’s y/n again?”

the silence that follows is deafening.

sukuna stares at him, the vein in his temple twitching.

“are you actually deadass right now?”

toji shrugs. “bro, i talk to a lot of girls, you gotta be more specific.”

that’s it.

sukuna drags a hand down his face, muttering something that sounds halfway between a growl and a groan. he doesn’t even bother explaining. it’s not worth it.

“don't worry, man,” he snaps, spinning on his heel.

he slams the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.

by the time he gets back to his room, his chest is tight, the frustration boiling over into something heavier. he paces once, twice, then finally drops onto his bed, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“who’s y/n again?”

the words echo in his mind like a bad joke.

he can’t believe it. he can’t believe he ever thought this was a good idea, trying to set you up with that idiot.

it’s not even about the deal anymore. it’s about you.

because now he knows what it feels like to be around you, to hear you laugh, to see the way your eyes light up when he remembers the smallest things. he knows what it feels like to walk beside you through campus at night, the air cool and soft, your voice quiet but steady.

he likes you.

really, really likes you.

and it’s not just because you’re pretty, though god, you are. it’s because you’re kind. because you make him feel human again, in a way that nothing else ever does. because you talk to him like he’s worth something more than the reputation that follows him.

he doesn’t know when it happened, but it’s there now, and it’s not going away.

.

the weeks that follow move in a blur. the two of you keep meeting for study sessions, but they’ve shifted. so subtly that neither of you seems to notice.

you’re more relaxed now. you smile more, laugh easier. you’ve started showing up with little things for him too. chocolates, protein bars, a can of cold brew. every time, he teases you about it, but inside, he’s having a spaz out.

and every time he brings you something in return, you light up like he’s handed you the world.

you’ve started talking about more than the project. now, it’s everything. random things. favorite youtuber, weird scandals, "uhm, no way you think d4vd is innocent, they had matching tattoos!", childhood fuck ups, "yeah, i used to be one of those devious lick kids in middle school, me and gojo stole an entire sink".

sometimes, you talk so much you forget the assignment altogether, and he never stops you.

he lives for these moments.

sometimes, when you’re sitting side by side at the library, your knees brush under the table. it’s barely a touch, accidental every time, but it makes his pulse stutter.

you’ve started giving him hugs too, real ones. not just quick, polite ones, actual, full-bodied hugs that make him want to forget how to breathe. all he wants to do is bundle you up and take you back home, lock you away where no one could possibly taint that beautiful smile.

he pretends to be chill and nonchalant, but inside, he’s crashing out so hard.

one afternoon, it’s raining outside, and you show up in a damp tank top, hair slightly damp. he nearly forgets how to speak. you hand him a hot chocolate and giggle when he stares at it like he’s never seen one before.

“it’s not that weird,” you say, smiling. “i thought you might want something warm and sweet for this type of weather.”

he looks at you for a long moment trying not to stare at your see through chest, then takes the cup. “thanks,” he murmurs, and it sounds like something heavier than gratitude.

you shrug, shy but pleased, then sit down beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.

when the session ends that day, he walks you home like he always does. it’s become a quiet habit between you. no one suggested it, but neither of you questions it either. you live just off campus, in a small apartment with ivy creeping up the walls, and every time you reach your door, you both hesitate.

he wants to ask if he can come inside, just once.

you always look like you might invite him, too.

but neither of you ever says it.

instead, you smile, soft and warm, and tell him goodnight. he always watches until you disappear inside, until the light flicks on and frank ocean starts softly pouring from the window.

and every time, he walks back to the frat with that same ache in his chest, the one that’s half longing and half fear.

he knows he’s in wayyy too deep.

but he can't stop.

you’ve started coming out of your shell in little bursts. you tease him now, gently. you call him out when he’s being lazy, roll your eyes when he tries to act too chill. and he eats it the fuck up. every second of it.

you’re different with him now. freer. you trust him.

and that makes everything both better and worse.

because every time you look at him with that open, honest expression, he has to remind himself of the lie he built this on—the deal, the fake promise to get you closer to toji.

it barely comes up anymore. sometimes you mention toji in passing, usually as a joke, and you both laugh it off. it’s like neither of you really care about it anymore.

and maybe that’s the truth. maybe it stopped mattering the moment you started looking at him like that.

one evening, when the sun’s setting, you’re sitting across from him at the library, talking about nothing in particular. you’re smiling, head tilted, your voice soft. and he catches himself staring, not hearing a single word.

you stop mid-sentence, blinking. “what?”

he shakes his head quickly. “nothing.”

“you’re staring,” you say, cheeks pink.

“you’re imagining things, honey."

you laugh, hiding your face in your hands.

he smiles too, but there’s something behind it—something he doesn’t let you see.

because in that moment, it hits him all over again, stronger than before.

he’s seriously can't do this shit any longer.

he doesn’t want to help you get to toji anymore.

he doesn’t want to stand by while you talk about someone else, even in passing.

he wants you. all of you.

the quiet smiles, the shy blushes, the little quirks he’s learned by heart.

he wants to be the one who gets to see every part of you—every version of that soft, sweet girl who’s been slowly unraveling in front of him.

and he knows, deep down, that if he ever let himself say it out loud, he’d never be able to take it back.

so he keeps it buried, just for now, as he walks you home again that night. the streetlights stretch long shadows across the pavement, and your arm brushes his once, twice, and each time, he swears of he doesn't concentrate he'll trip over his jordans.

when you reach your door, you turn to him with that same bright smile, the one that always knocks the air from his lungs.

“thanks again,” you say softly.

he nods. “anytime.”

you linger for a second, like you want to say something more, then wave goodnight and disappear inside.

he stands there for a long moment, staring at the door, listening to the faint hum of music from your apartment.

then, finally, he exhales, a small, helpless laugh slipping out.

he’s ruined. completely.

and for once in his life, he doesn’t even mind.

~

the classroom is thick with the sound of quiet chatter, chairs scraping against tile, pens clicking as people jot down reminders before leaving. the fluorescent lights flicker slightly, casting everything in a washed-out glow that makes it feel like time’s been stretched too thin. the chemistry teacher’s voice cuts through it all, cheerful but distant.

“alright, everyone—just a quick reminder that your paired assignment is due at the end of this week. make sure you’ve got everything finalized. i’ll be checking submissions on friday.”

the words hang in the air like a quiet ending bell.

you look up from your notes at the same time sukuna does, and for a moment, your eyes meet across the shared lab table. he’s already watching you, elbows resting on the counter, twirling his pen between his fingers.

he gives you this crooked half-smile—something between fond and nervous—and you return it, though yours falters just a little at the edges.

it hits both of you at once. this thing between you, this rhythm you’ve fallen into, the study sessions, the walks home, the quiet coffees before class? it’s been built around this assignment. and when the assignment ends, what happens then?

he taps his pen against his notebook, looking away first. “guess we’re almost done, huh?”

you try to sound light. “yeah… crazy how fast it went.”

but it doesn’t feel fast. it feels full. it feels like a lifetime compressed into a few short weeks, every minute threaded with something unspoken.

he hums in agreement, glancing at you again. “we should probably go over everything one more time. make sure it’s perfect.”

you nod, pretending to check the notes in front of you. “mhm, library after class?”

“yeah,” he says. “one last session.”

one last. the words make your stomach twist.

.

sukuna drops his bag on the chair across from you, stretching his arms as he sits down. his hair’s a little messy from the wind, and he smells faintly of the sexy cologne he always wears, something clean and manly that clings to his skin.

you open your laptop, trying to focus on the document in front of you. it’s almost done—just small edits, formatting, double-checking citations—but the words keep blurring. you can feel his presence across the table, solid and steady, and it’s impossible to think about chemistry when he’s right there.

he’s quieter than usual too. his knee bounces under the table, a restless rhythm, and every now and then you catch him glancing up, like he’s about to say something but decides against it.

the silence stretches between you, thick and loaded. you can’t stand it anymore.

“so…” you start, voice softer than you mean it to be.

he looks up instantly, like he’s been waiting for you to speak. “yeah?”

you open your mouth, close it again, glance at your hands. “never mind. it’s nothing.”

he frowns slightly. “come on. what is it?”

you shake your head, forcing a small smile. “seriously, it’s nothing. just focus.”

he watches you for a second longer, then sighs and leans back, crossing his arms. “fine. but you’re acting weird.”

you let out a soft laugh that sounds too nervous. “i could say the same about you.”

that gets a real smile out of him, crooked and teasing, but it fades quickly.

you both go quiet again, typing half-heartedly, neither of you really working. the tension builds, unspoken and unbearable.

you can feel the words sitting on your tongue, begging to be let out. you want to tell him everything. how the crush on toji fizzled out weeks ago, how stupid it feels now, how you can’t stop thinking about him instead. how every time he looks at you, your whole chest feels like it’s about to give out.

you glance up. he’s staring at his screen, jaw tight, eyes unfocused. and somehow, you can tell he’s holding something back too.

finally, you both move at the same time.

“i have to tell you something,” you say, right as he says, “there’s something i should tell you.”

you both stop, eyes locking.

you laugh softly. “you first.”

he shakes his head. “nuh uh, you first.”

“no way,” you say, smiling now despite the nerves. “you looked like you were about to explode. go ahead.”

“ladies first,” he shoots back, that teasing lilt returning to his voice, though his eyes are still serious.

you roll your eyes, but your heart’s hammering. “fine,” you breathe.

he leans forward, forearms on the table, watching you carefully.

you swallow, your fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. “okay. so, um… this is kind of embarrassing, but—”

you stop, take a breath, try again. “it's about toji.”

his expression flickers for a second, something unreadable crossing his face. “yeah,” he says slowly. “what about him?”

you toy with a pen to keep your hands busy. “i don’t really… feel that way anymore. about him.”

his brow lifts just slightly, his voice careful. “ts' that so?”

you nod, cheeks warm. “yeah. i mean, it was kind of silly, wasn’t it? i barely knew him. i think i just liked the idea of him. and then when you brought him to that one session, i realised he’s… kinda clapped, nothing like what i imagined.”

he lets out a small sound, something close to a laugh, but it’s quiet, almost nervous. “yeah, that sounds like him.”

you smile faintly, tracing a finger along the edge of your notebook. “the truth is, i think i was just projecting. when we started hanging out, i didn’t know you that well, and i guess i thought maybe toji was like you. you know? confident, funny, easy to talk to.” you pause, your gaze flicking up to his. “but he’s not you. not even remotely close.”

his breath catches slightly, and for a moment, he forgets how to speak.

“i don’t know,” you go on, voice softer now, almost trembling. “i kept thinking i wanted someone like toji, but… the whole time, i was really just wishing he’d be more like you, sukuna.”

you meet his eyes fully now, and the world seems to narrow around you both. “and then i realised maybe i don’t want someone like you. maybe i just, you know, want you.”

the silence that follows feels endless.

he’s staring at you, completely still. you can see the realization hit him. the tension in his shoulders easing, his expression softening in disbelief and relief all at once.

you bite your lip, instantly flustered. “that sounded so stupid, didn’t it?”

he shakes his head quickly. “no. no, not at all.”

he leans back in his chair, letting out a long, shaky exhale. it’s the biggest breath of relief you’ve ever seen someone take. he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath, a sound that’s half disbelieving, half overwhelmed.

“holy shit,” he murmurs, still smiling. “you have no idea how good it is to hear that.”

you blink. “uhm, what?”

he laughs again, softer this time, his hand still pressed to the back of his neck. “that’s what i was gonna tell you. i’ve been losing my fucking mind these past few weeks because i’ve been trying so hard not to say it.”

you stare at him, your heart pounding. “say what?”

he meets your gaze again, eyes warm and honest. “that i like you. like, really like you. i’ve had this massive crush on you for a while now, and it’s been killing me trying to act normal.”

you can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, part disbelief, part giddy joy. “you’re deadass?”

he nods. “one hundred percent.”

“but… the deal,” you say quietly. “you were supposed to help me with toji.”

“yeah, about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “i kinda… just didn’t.”

you tilt your head. “uhhm, what?”

he laughs again, nervously this time. “i told him you had a boyfriend.”

your eyes widen. “you did?"

he winces. “yeah. i told him that weeks ago. i just... i couldn’t do it anymore. couldn’t keep pretending i was helping you get with him when all i wanted was to keep you all to myself.”

you blink once, twice, then cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “you told him i had a boyfriend?”

“yep.” he grins now, a little cocky, a little embarrassed. “guess that’s me sabotaging the deal.”

you drop your hand, still smiling. “that’s so stupid.”

“i know.”

“but…” you pause, your smile turning softer. “it’s kind of sweet.”

he leans forward again, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving yours. “you’re not mad?”

“mad?” you repeat, shaking your head. “no. that’s… exactly what i wanted, actually.”

he blinks. “really?”

you nod, heart in your throat. “yeah. i didn’t want you helping me with toji. not anymore. i just didn’t know how to tell you.”

he stares at you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “so what now?”

you smile. “i don’t know. maybe we just… stop pretending.”

he exhales, leaning back with a grin that could light up the whole room. “i can do that.”

for a moment, neither of you says anything. you just sit there, the quiet hum of the library around you, the sun slipping lower through the windows, painting his skin in gold.

finally, he breaks the silence, voice low. “for the record, i was terrified you were about to tell me you had a new man for real.”

you laugh softly. “no chance.”

“good,” he says, and the way he looks at you—soft, sure, a little possessive—makes your pulse race.

you don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re both leaning across the table, closer than you’ve ever been. the distance between you shrinks until you can feel his breath on your lips, his hand brushing lightly against yours.

neither of you say anything. you don’t need to.

the moment stretches, slow and sweet, full of everything you’ve both been holding back.

~

the second you get back to your apartment, your face ignites with the kind of fire only a really nice fireplace could match, the ones in those fancy houses you see on the block.

the guy you'd been crushing on for a total of four weeks now had just told you he felt the same. and ever more, he'd been so obsessed he'd told your ex-crush you'd had a boyfriend in hopes of bagging you himself.

for a girl not used to being in the spotlight, having such a loud, well known frat guy like ryomen sukuna become vulnerable, just for you? it was like the world came crashing and burning down at your feet. he made your stomach swim with love and passion, a feeling you'd only ever gotten from receiving higher grades than everyone else, a feeling so much better than finding a new delicious pastry you couldn't help but order again.

ryomen sukuna was it. he was the kinda guy you'd been dreaming of ever since you'd started college. he was the perfect man, and he was as into you as you were him.

you settled into your living room with an adorably large smile painted on your lips, the sensation of fulfilment taking over your ever thought as you dreamt of what was to happen next.

~

the week after the submission crawls by. you think about both sukuna and the possible grade you'll both get every day. every time you pass the lab, every time you open your laptop, every time you catch sight of sukuna across the courtyard, leaning against the wall with his friends.

you can tell he’s thinking about it too. the way he catches your eye during class and offers a small, crooked smile says everything. neither of you can really stop wondering what the final mark will be, as well as what life has in store for the both of you.

friday finally rolls around, the classroom feels weird. students trickle in with tired faces and restless energy, everyone buzzing quietly with the same anticipation. the teacher walks in, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

she sets everything down at the front desk, claps her hands together, and gives a small, approving smile.

“alright, everyone,” she says, her tone almost teasing. “i’ve marked your projects. you’ll get the official grades through the online portal, but since i know you’re all impatient—” her gaze sweeps the room, landing briefly on you and sukuna, “—i’ll let you know this much: some of you really impressed me.”

a ripple of chatter runs through the class. sukuna shoots you a look from across the room, eyebrows raised. you smile nervously and shrug.

after class, the two of you linger by the doorway, waiting for the crowd to clear out. you’re clutching your phone, refreshing the student portal again and again even though the grades still aren’t visible. sukuna leans close, peering at your screen.

“nothing yet?” he asks.

“no,” you sigh. “probably another hour.”

he tilts his head, thinking for a moment. “want to check it together later? at that little cafe with the green sign?”

you blink. “awe, my favourite. sure!”

“of course,” he says, smirking lightly. “how good am i remembering your favourite things n' shit.”

you laugh, cheeks warming. “what a man. how about we meet there at five?”

“five it is.” he gives a small wave as he heads down the hall. “see you then, partner.”

the cafe smells like roasted coffee beans and sugar, the air humming with quiet conversation and the clinking of ceramic cups. it’s early evening, and the place is wrapped in that warm, lazy glow that makes everything feel softer. the green sign outside flickers faintly through the window, the letters worn from years of weather and sunlight.

you spot him immediately—sitting near the counter, wearing a black hoodie and tapping his thumb against his phone screen. his hair’s pulled back, a few loose strands falling into his eyes. he looks up the moment the door chimes, and that grin spreads across his face like it’s second nature.

“hey,” he says as you approach.

“hey,” you echo, sliding into the seat across from him.

he gestures toward the counter. “i already ordered for us. black coffee for me, that thing you like for you, and—” he grins, “—a pastry, because apparently you can’t sit in this place without one.”

you laugh softly, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters. “you know me too well, we needa' hang out less.”

“noo,” he says, leaning back. “i'm just an observer.”

the drinks come quickly, steam curling from the cups. you take yours with both hands, staring at the little swirl of foam, trying to calm your nerves. sukuna pulls out his phone again, refreshes the student portal, and freezes.

his eyes widen. “holy shit,” he mutters.

you look up sharply. “what?”

he turns the screen toward you. there it is—your names side by side, and next to them, the number that makes your breath catch.

98%.

you stare at it for a second, then look at him, and the two of you just burst out laughing.

“oh my-” you say, grinning from ear to ear. “ninety-eight?”

he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “holy shit- holy shit can’t believe it,” he says, half-laughing, half-sighing in disbelief. “i actually passed. i can stay in the frat. holy shit.”

you laugh again, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably. “i told you you’d do fine!”

he stands up suddenly, still laughing, and before you can react he pulls you into his arms. it’s a full, tight hug—so warm, so big. his chest rumbles with laughter, and you can feel how much this means to him, how much the stress and pressure have finally melted away.

“thank you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low, almost breathless. “thank you so much for helping me. i would’ve completely fucking tanked without you.”

you laugh against his shoulder, feeling your own face heat up. “you’re welcome,” you mumble, your words muffled by his hoodie. “you did so good, really.”

when he finally lets go, you can still feel the warmth lingering where he’d held you. he looks just as flustered, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits back down.

“sorry,” he says, half-smiling. “got a little carried away.”

“it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel. “it was… nice.”

his grin widens at that.

you both take a moment to calm down, sipping your drinks in the cozy corner. the sound of the coffee machine hums faintly in the background, and sunlight filters through the leaves outside, dappled across the table. it feels like the whole world’s slowed down just for the two of you.

“so,” he says eventually, voice softer now, “ninety-eight percent. that's so peak."

“yeah, we did that,” you reply, smiling. “you’ll probably get a compliment from the teacher next class.”

“you too,” he says. “you carried me, you're actually so clutch.”

“you helped too,” you insist. “you actually tried, sukuna. that’s what mattered.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “yeah, but even if i hadn’t passed…” he pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “i don’t think i’d be too upset.”

you tilt your head, smiling faintly. “no?”

“nah.” he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “because i got to spend all that time with you. and honestly? that made it worth it.”

your chest tightens, a flutter rising under your ribs. you look down quickly, pretending to focus on your coffee. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not,” he says firmly. “you made studying actually fun. no one’s ever done that shit before.”

you look up again, and his expression is so genuine, so open, that you forget how to breathe for a second.

“well,” you say softly, “i liked spending time with you too.”

your cups sit forgotten on the table, the croissant half-eaten, and all you can hear is the chatter of other uni kids and the soft clatter of dishes.

you stare into his eyes, and there’s a question there—unspoken but clear.

he smiles, almost shyly, a rare thing for him. “so… what now?”

you shrug lightly, but your smile mirrors his. “i don’t know. i guess we don’t have to stop hanging out just because the project’s done.”

his grin grows wider, and you can see the faintest pink dusting his ears. “good,” he says. “because i was kinda hoping you’d say that.”

he hesitates for a moment, then sits up a little straighter, as if gathering courage.

“actually,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his cup, “there’s something i wanted to ask.”

you tilt your head. “hmm? and what’s that?”

he exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “i know this is probably cheesy as hell, but… i’d really like to take you out. like, properly. dinner, movie, whatever you want. an actual date.”

the words sink in, soft and certain. you blink, surprised but instantly smiling, your cheeks growing hot.

“you mean… like, a date date?” you ask, teasing just a little.

he laughs under his breath. “yeah. a date date.”

you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “i’d love that.”

his expression softens into something that almost makes your heart ache. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

for a moment, you just sit there, both grinning like idiots. it feels unreal, like something out of a quiet, sunlit dream.

he leans back in his chair, relief washing over him in waves. “good,” he says. “i was worried you’d say no.”

you shake your head, still smiling. “never.”

the light outside shifts slowly, spilling gold through the window, painting his skin in soft warmth. he looks at you like he’s memorizing the moment—the coffee, the laughter, the way you keep tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

and as he sits across from you, grinning like he can’t quite believe his luck, you know that whatever comes next, it’s going to be something worth waiting for.

~

months slide by, slow but certain. what once was a study partnership built on awkward exchanges and quiet glances has become something sooo much more. somewhere between library stops, coffee stops, and tight hugs, it shifted. you shifted. sukuna shifted. the line between school and romance blurred until it disappeared completely.

now, you’re his. officially, undeniably, completely his. and he’s yours.

the first time sukuna brings you to the frat house as his girlfriend, it feels like stepping into a completely different world. the place is loud, music spilling from bluetooth speakers, guys shouting from the kitchen about who’s out of beer, the smell of cheap cologne and pizza hanging in the air.

you pause in the doorway, clutching sukuna’s hand like it’s an anchor. he glances down at you with that little smirk that never fails to make your heart stutter.

“don’t stress it baby,” he murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath grazes your ear. “they’ll love you.”

and they do.

weather or not that's because he threatened to beat them unconscious if they made you feel uncomfortable before you came over is irrelevant.

satoru’s the first to notice you, perched on the couch with a controller in hand. he looks up mid-game, grins wide, and immediately calls out, “holy shit, sukuna actually brought a girl here voluntarily?”

“shut up,” sukuna grumbles, tightening his grip on your hand. “this one’s permanent.”

that earns a chorus of oohs and whistles from the guys nearby. your face burns, but when you glance up at sukuna, he’s smiling—not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. proud.

“hey,” you mumble under your breath, “it smells so bad in here, ryo.”

he chuckles quietly. “you’ll get used to it.”

before you can even respond, toji appears from the kitchen, a beer in hand and a knowing grin on his face. “well, if it isn’t the little chem genius.”

you blink. “you… remember me?”

“of course,” toji laughs, setting his drink down and stretching out a hand. “heard you saved this idiot’s academic career.”

“hey,” sukuna cuts in, rolling his eyes. “i wasn’t that bad.”

“you had an eight percent, bro.”

the whole room bursts into laughter. sukuna just grumbles and flips toji off while you try not to giggle too loudly. it’s strange, seeing them all like this. so loud, so chaotic, so different from the quiet rhythm you’re used to, but somehow, it feels okay. you feel okay.

by the end of the night, you’re sitting between sukuna’s legs on the couch, his arms draped loosely around your waist, your back against his chest. someone puts on an old movie in the background, and the chatter slowly fades into easy quiet. for the first time, the frat doesn’t feel intimidating. it feels warm. welcoming.

satoru catches your eye from across the room, giving a thumbs up before mouthing, she’s a keeper. sukuna just smirks.

later that night, when everyone else has gone to bed and the house has fallen quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of floorboards, sukuna presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“told you they’d love you,” he whispers.

“yeah, you were right,” you murmur, smiling softly. “they’re so nice.”

“you’re even nicer,” he says, his voice barely audible. “that’s why they love ya'.”

and you can hear the truth in his tone. you know he means it.

after that, everything starts to fall into blissful routine. you help him study, drilling formulas and reactions into his head late into the night. he’s surprisingly good at it now, his grades climbing steadily—proof that maybe he was capable all along, he just needed someone to push him in the right direction.

and in return, he helps you come out of your shell.

he brings you to tiny cafes you’ve never been to before, teaches you how to play pool (terribly, but he doesn’t care), and pulls you into spontaneous late-night walks through campus when the air is cool and the stars are bright.

sometimes, you end up sitting on the hood of his car, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your fingers tangled with his as he talks about everything and nothing.

he tells you things he’s never told anyone else—about his parents, about the pressure to be someone bigger, stronger, louder. about how he never really cared about anything before he met you.

“you made me start giving a shit,” he says one night, his voice low as he traces lazy circles against your palm. “about school, about the future. about being a better guy.”

you glance up at him, smiling faintly. “you're the bestest guy, kuna.”

he looks at you for a long time, his chest squeezing with the urge to squish you until you pop. then, with a soft exhale, he leans down and kisses you. gentle, slow, like the world could end and he’d still be happy just holding you against his muscular chest.

word gets around campus fast. whispers follow you sometimes. half disbelief, half awe. people don’t really understand how you ended up with him. the shy, quiet girl who sits at the front of every lecture, always polite, always prepared… dating one of the loudest, most notorious frat boys on campus.

but the thing is, neither of you care.

you’ve seen the way people look at you two when you walk hand in hand across campus, his tall frame towering beside yours. you’ve heard the murmurs—'how long do you think it’ll last, she’s too good for him, he’ll get bored'. but then he catches your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and all of it melts away.

"don't listen to those clowns."

because you know him now. the real him.

the boy who wakes up early to get your favorite pastry from the cafe before class. the one who drapes his hoodie over your shoulders when it’s too crisp. the one who never forgets to text you goodnight, even when he’s exhausted.

the one who stopped showing up to most frat partys because, as he put it, “none of it’s fun without you anyway.”

you see it in the way he’s changed. not because you asked him to, but because he wants to.

he doesn’t flirt with girls anymore. he doesn’t even seem to notice when they do. his focus is all on you. your laughter, your voice, your little quirks that no one else ever bothered to notice.

and it’s not just the big things that show it. it’s the way he always walks on the side of the road closest to the cars. the way he remembers all your orders without ever asking. the way he’ll pull you closer when you’re out together, even if it’s just to rest his big hand on your hip.

he doesn’t talk about feelings much, not directly. but in every gesture, every glance, it’s there.

you’re his world now, and everyone can see it.

his room at the frat house has changed, too. gone are the stacks of solo cups and random gym gear scattered across the floor. in their place are little pieces of you—a throw blanket you brought one day, a mug you left on his desk, your notebook tucked on the shelf next to his textbooks.

he keeps a photo of the two of you pinned on his bulletin board. it’s a candid, one of those moments you didn’t even know he was taking. a shot of you sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing his hoodie, laughing with a half-eaten cookie in your hand. he swears it’s his favorite picture in the world.

“you look so fucking cute, and happy,” he tells you when you catch him staring at it one night.

“i am happy,” you reply softly.

“better be,” he says. “that’s all i ever want for you, y/n.”

some nights, he stays over at your apartment instead of the frat. he always claims it’s because it’s quieter, easier to focus on studying. but you both know it’s just because he sleeps better when you’re beside him.

you cook together sometimes, though “cook” might be a really shitty out of touch excuse for the disaster you two create. he burns half the things he touches, laughs through every fuck up, and still insists on taste-testing everything like he’s on master chef. you can’t stay mad when he grins at you with flour on his cheek, his dimples showing as he holds up a misshapen cookie.

“hey, we’re improvin',” he says.

“barely,” you reply, giggling.

he just leans down, presses a quick kiss to your nose, and murmurs, “yeah, but you’re still here, so i must be doing somethin' right.”

there are still parties, of course—he’s still in the frat, and sometimes showing up is expected. but it’s much different. when he does go, he stays by your side the whole night, a protective hand on your back or wrapped around your waist.

he barely drinks anymore, claiming he doesn’t need to. when people flirt or make comments, he just laughs them off and pulls you a little closer.

and when it gets late, when the music’s too loud and the air too heavy with alcohol and perfume, he’ll lean down and whisper, “wanna get out of here?”

you always nod. and the two of you slip away, walking through quiet streets until you reach your place, where everything feels calm again.

people still whisper, still wonder how it works. how a shy, soft-spoken girl could tame someone like ryomen sukuna. but you know the truth.

you didn’t tame him, you just saw him. really saw him. beneath the tattoos, the reputation, the arrogance. you saw the boy who just needed someone to care, and he saw the girl who needed someone to make her feel brave.

and together, you found something that feels a lot like forever.

months pass, the seasons shifting from late autumn to the first chill of winter. the air turns crisp, the sky pale and bright. the two of you walk through campus hand in hand, your breath forming little clouds in the cold.

“remember when we first started that project?” you ask one day, laughing softly. “you barely knew what a periodic table was.”

“hey,” he says, pretending to be offended. “i knew what it was. i just didn’t give a shit.”

“hmm, and now you’re pulling straight a’s.”

he grins. “guess i had a real good tutor. she's real sexy, too..”

you bump his shoulder lightly. “awe i bet she'd be real flattered to hear that.”

he stops walking for a moment, looking down at you with that same warm, unguarded look that still makes your stomach flip.

“you know something?” he says quietly.

“hmm?”

“i still think that fuckass project was the best thing that's ever happened to lil' ol' me.”

you smile, reaching up to fix the collar of his jacket. “yeah?”

“hell yeah,” he murmurs, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours. “because it led me to you.”

the world fades for a moment, the cold, the noise, the people around you, and it’s just him. just you.

when he kisses you, it’s slow, steady, full of all the fuzzy romantic fire that’s been culminating between you since the day he walked up to your desk with a failed test and a hidden nervous smile.

you remember that moment so clearly now, and you can’t help but think how far you’ve both come. from shy glances and awkward silences to this. a love that feels like home.

and as his hand tightens around yours, you realize something simple, something certain.

you’ve both found exactly where you’re meant to be, with each other.

soft sukuna is my fav icl

It isn’t until the baby is fast asleep in the nursery and the two of you are tucked into bed that you pull the trigger.

You clamber into his lap, limbs everywhere and flailing as you find comfort in straddling him, your bare heat against his sweatpants.

“No panties?” You quiz, grinding your slick pussy against his bulge and feeling no restriction of boxers. Commando. The man only seemed to ripen into a more lax state the more he stayed home.

He hiccups alert with a groan, somehow exhausted from being as dynamic as your fern houseplant.

But when he catches the sight of you tugging your tank over your head, now completely bared before him and grinding onto his imprint like a needy bitch, does his scar twitch in mirth. “What? It turn you on, baby?”

His massive, rough palms find purchase on your hips, guiding your slow ruts.

You toss your head back, nails digging into his shoulders and mapping out the expanse of his broad chest. He’s still got all of his muscles—merely absorbed by a layer of junk food, sodas, and Maruchan. “Mmm, not as much as this new look you’re sporting.”

He huffs something akin to a laugh before you swiftly find yourself on your back with Toji hovering over you, tugging one of your legs flush to his waist.

“Didn’t think my girl would find a beer gut hot,” he smirks, dipping his head into the crook of your neck and licking a long languid stripe up your jugular.

You try to ward off the butterflies erupting in your gut, masking it with feigned nonchalance. “I mean… I’m just worried you might not be able to please me the same. The dad life’s been hitting you hard, huh?”

You know he can, and he knows you know it, too.

But his hand still lands a swift smack! onto your bare ass, a red imprint left in its trail. 

“Want this daddy to prove to you that he’s still got it?”